


Since We’ve No Place To Go

by virginfiber



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 37,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28145607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virginfiber/pseuds/virginfiber
Summary: After Brienne Tarth drunkenly hooked up with one of her detestable coworkers, she didn’t think things could get any more awkward.That is, until they got snowed in together.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 77
Kudos: 229





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In my heart, there is a cliché romantic comedy dying to get out. This short story is my attempt at following my heart. It is bound to be a hot mess, but I hope it will be a FUN hot mess. In all honesty, this story could just be called Izzy Making Herself Laugh.
> 
> I’m jumping the gun by posting these notes, but here’s hope I finish this story at all, much less by Christmas.
> 
> Less than a week, boys. Here we go!
> 
> (Narrator: She did not finish the story by Christmas.)

If Brienne could give a single piece of advice for surviving work holiday parties, it would be to get as completely and utterly plastered as possible.

It was the only foolproof way to stomach the awkward small-talk, tone-deaf jokes, and unprompted details of your co-workers' lives. In the past hour, she’d already reached her quota on the amount of times it was acceptable to say, “damn, that's crazy,” when listening to the divorce woes of Bernadette from finance. After seeing the waiter glide by carrying a tray filled with flutes of champagne, she’d dismissed herself to follow him like a hawk circling its prey.

One of the perks of working for a very generous boss who was desperate for his employees' approval was that he tended to pull out all the stops for parties like these. This year, Robert had rented out the ballroom of the Bronze Thicket, hiring hotel staff to cater the event and grant them their every wish, which meant the alcohol was free-flowing, and in abundance, and Brienne fully intended to take advantage of the gifts she’d been given.

Swanky jazz music poured from the overhead speakers, and the lights were dimmed, allowing all attention to be drawn to the massive Christmas tree near the front of the room, piles of Secret Santa presents tucked underneath. Humming along under her breath, Brienne discreetly pulled down the hem of her black dress, shifting uncomfortably in her tights as she sought out in search of another drink. Or three.

She was already feeling considerably better than she had been when she first arrived—her laughter had grown louder, and more genuine, instead of forced, and obligatory, and she no longer had the urge to hide in the bathroom with a bottle of wine until it was all over. Though the latter was still her back-up plan if the night went to shit.

Across the room, she spotted a familiar face, and her mouth spread into a grin as she surged through the crowd toward it. Sansa Stark was one of the few tolerable people she worked with on a daily basis. In fact, she was a lot more than tolerable, she was actually kind of fun. Most people would probably assume the staff of a travel and lifestyle magazine would be a happy bunch, but that couldn't be further from the truth in Brienne’s office.

"Sansa," Brienne called out as she got closer, lifting up a hand to catch her attention. "You made it!"

Sansa turned at the sound of her voice, pale skin glowing under the lights as her blue-eyed gaze landed on Brienne, seeming to sparkle. "Brienne," she greeted warmly, "I've been looking for you."

Brienne pulled her into a side-hug once she reached her, careful not to disturb the seemingly-untouched champagne flute in her own hand. "Likewise," she remarked. "Did you just get here?"

Sansa lifted her free hand to tuck a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "I did," she admitted with a grimace. "I was stalling as much as possible. Ramsay said he was looking forward to seeing me tonight, so I am very much trying to avoid that."

Brienne crinkled her nose as both of their gazes landed on the man in question, laughing with several other colleagues across the room. Ramsay Bolton was small, angry, and hands down the King Douche of the office. It was as though his single goal in life was to make every woman in the immediate vicinity uncomfortable, and he did a damn good job of it. Just last week, he told Brienne she’d definitely get more action if she dressed a little sexier.

It had taken every last shred of self-control to not punch him in the face.

"Noted," Brienne said solemnly. "He will not come within two feet of you."

"You're a godsend," Sansa replied, breathing a sigh of relief.

After a pause, Brienne side-eyed the still undisturbed glass of champagne.

"So," she began expectantly. "You gonna drink that?"

Sansa rolled her eyes amicably. "Here," she said, passing it off to Brienne and she happily accepted it with a grin, wasting no time in taking a hearty sip.

"Thank you, ma'am," Brienne chirped.

Something seemed to catch Sansa’s attention across the room, distracting her from Brienne’s words as her expression turned to one of intrigue. "Hey, look who's checking you out," Sansa murmured, inclining her head toward Brienne with a conspiratorial smirk.

Brienne straightened her shoulders, instantly scanning the room on high alert. "What? Who? Is it the cute waiter?"

"Not quite." Sansa raised her eyebrows, jerking her chin to the left, until Brienne’s eyes landed on who she was talking about.

"Oh, gross," Brienne groaned, making a face of disappointment.

The man in question was Jaime Lannister, resident douchebag number two, in Brienne’s eyes. He'd only started working for Accord Magazine a couple months ago, but in that amount of time, she didn't think she’s ever seen him crack a smile, or seem anything but completely miserable. She’d tried to make conversation with him in the breakroom on multiple occasions, only to be brutally shut down every time, leaving her to eagerly retreat back to her desk.

Despite his unapproachable demeanor, Brienne couldn't deny the man was attractive. He looked like something fresh off the pages of GQ in the most obnoxious way, with his tailored shirts, neat stubble, and meticulously styled golden hair. If only his terrible personality didn't outweigh all of that. It was as if the men in the office had made a pact to be the absolute worst, yet still make sure they were eye candy, and it royally pissed Brienne off. What was the point of having hot co-workers if they were insufferable?

Jaime and Brienne locked eyes, his dark gaze steady on hers for a breath, until she looked away, swirling her champagne.

"I hate that guy," she muttered, before taking another drink to distract from the sudden heat in her cheeks.

She stood by her earlier sentiment—Christmas parties were only tolerable when inebriated.

"Oh, come on, Brienne," Sansa protested. "Have you seen him? There are definitely worse prospects here tonight."

Brienne let her eyes flicker in his direction once more, but he'd migrated from his previous spot, making his way over to the buffet table, and Brienne found herself watching his shoulder blades move against the fabric of his suit jacket. "His looks don't count when his personality sucks ass," she explained, before sighing, turning her attention back to the girl next to her. "Anyway, when are you headed out?"

"Wednesday," Sansa replied, scrunching up her nose. "And then I get to deal with airports and planes for the next eighteen hours. Going home is great and all, but God, at what cost?"

Sansa would be flying out to stay with her family in the North for the rest of December, and wouldn't be coming back until they were a couple weeks into January. Brienne was happy she was taking a well-deserved vacation, but it meant her one work friend would be abandoning her, leaving her with no one to share pointed looks with when Ramsay made a misogynistic comment, or Robert tried to invent new slang words and put them into circulation around the office.

"Can you stick me in your suitcase?" Brienne asked, finishing off the champagne. "I'd gladly take eighteen hours over being stuck in this place without you. Besides, I'm sure your family will love me."

"I would if I could." Sansa laughed, latching onto Brienne’s arm and tugging her further into the fray. "Come on, let's go find something to drown our sorrows." 

—————

An indeterminate amount of time later, Brienne had done a satisfactory job of accomplishing her goal for the night.

In her drunken haze, she was far less bitter, far more approachable, and it took barely any coaxing to get her to take over the karaoke mic and belt out Mariah Carey. She posed for goofy pictures with coworkers she would rarely speak more than three words to on a regular basis, laughed at all of Robert’s jokes, and managed to keep Ramsay away from Sansa at all times.

Drunk Brienne was simply a delight. It was a shame she only appeared in this state once a year. She was kind of like Santa, in that way.

After dancing with Sansa for several rounds once the music changed from classy to clubby, Brienne decided it was time to get some fresh air so she could come back to her senses, at least a little bit, in that hopes that she wouldn't make a complete ass of herself on the cab ride home.

Pushing through the swarm of her colleagues, Brienne made her way to the hotel lobby, and then out through the front entrance, stopping to grab her coat and bag from the coat check. Soft Christmas music floated down from the outdoor speakers, as drunk people were carted away in taxis, shouts of boisterous laughter and too-loud conversation filling the air. She waved to a couple of her coworkers as they were ushered into the back seat of a car, watching as they drove into the night, and slipped her arms through the sleeves of her jacket.

Brienne leaned against the wall, shivering slightly, breathing in the cool air. It was in her best interest to do anything in her power to sober up and prevent her hangover from feeling like the brink of death once tomorrow rolled around. Reaching into her bag, Brienne grabbed her metal water bottle, uncapping it to take a sip.

Closing her eyes, she listened to the Christmas jazz—or, jazz, with jingle bells, as she fondly referred to it—remembering the night in small blurred moments. Dancing with Sansa, taking shots with Ramsay in an effort to keep him occupied, singing a karaoke duet with Podrick, the baby-faced intern who was normally tasked with bringing them their mail, and multiple rounds of coffee throughout the work day.

It was another year for the books.

However, before she could fall too deep into her reverie, Brienne heard the sound of what could only be described as someone's ass getting kicked; a mixture of grunting, and fist meeting bone, belongings clattering to the pavement.

Instantly, her eyes snapped open and she tucked the water bottle away, clutching her bag to her chest. The smart, logical thing to do would've been to go inside, inform the hotel staff, and call the police, but Brienne had never claimed to be either of those things. Instead, she stupidly tiptoed around the corner, toward the dark entrance to the parkade.

Even in her intoxicated state, her heart hammered heavily in my chest. She rounded the corner just in time to see a man get sucker punched, and she flinched, shrinking away.

The attacker, a stocky man with a hood pulled over his head to disguise his features, watched as his victim doubled over, grunting, and took the opportunity to search through pockets, no doubt looking for a wallet, phone, or anything else with value.

Brienne observed them for a beat longer, wondering why the silhouette of the man on the ground looked so familiar.

Hold on a second, is that..?

Her eyes widened.

Jaime? 

There was no doubt about it. Brienne was currently the sole witness to her coldest coworker's mugging. As much as she didn't like the guy, he didn't deserve this. She couldn't remain a bystander, she had to do something.

The offender grabbed Jaime’s wrist, unclipping his brand name watch, and pocketing it. "Looks expensive," he muttered to himself.

Swallowing, Brienne crept closer at a snail's pace, sliding her bag from her shoulder slowly, and gripping the straps tightly between her fingers, feeling like a superhero at the pivotal moment of their origin story.

"Is this all you got?" the man asked angrily.

Jaime raised his hands in surrender. "That's everything, I swear," he said, voice surprisingly calm for someone who was in the process of being robbed.

Brienne could feel her pulse in her throat as she approached them as quietly as possible, heartbeat nearly drowning out everything else. When she was only a couple paces away, Jaime’s eyes latched onto Brienne’s own panicked ones, and his immediately widened. It only took seconds for him to register what she was about to do, and he lifted a hand, lips parting, most likely about to tell her to keep from making things worse by getting involved.

But it was too late.

Brienne gritted her teeth, used all the force she could manage, and swung.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t gonna post this yet, but I’m feeling bummed out, so I thought it would cheer me up. Have fun!

There was the sound of metal connecting with a human skull, followed by a string of curses Brienne would be remiss to repeat.

She stumbled slightly from the momentum of her actions, nearly catapulting to the ground, before freezing, her eyes still widened.

The mugger groaned, placing a hand to his head, turning to face her. “What the fuck?" he spat out.

"The police are on their way!" Brienne blurted hurriedly. "That's right—I definitely already called them! I'd be getting the hell out of here if I were you."

The man looked dubious, not seeming to buy her bravado, as Jaime gaped at her from his sprawled out position on the cement, proving to be absolutely no help whatsoever. If she wanted something done, she had to do it herself. Making an attempt to put on an air of confidence, Britney cocked an eyebrow, widening her stance and tightening her grip on her bag as she twirled it around in front of her.

"I got more swings where that came from, buddy," she warned. "You wanna go for round two?"

He backed away from my fast-moving weapon, then paused, looking between Jaime, the watch in his hands, and Brienne. She tilted her chin in a way that she hoped would come across as challenging. Shaking his head, he made a noise of exasperation.

"Aw, hell, this isn't even worth it," he growled, dropping the watch unceremoniously.

Without another word, he turned on his heel, darting through the alleyway.

As soon as he was out of sight, Brienne exhaled sharply, releasing her hold on the bag and letting it fall to the ground. She felt a swell of pride in her chest as she watched her water bottle roll across the pavement. It had served her well.

Slowly, Jaime pushed himself up from the ground, wincing slightly, his tailored shirt and pants ruffled from the tussle. He shook his head, staring at Brienne in complete awe. "I cannot believe that worked," he stated flatly.

"What do you mean?" Scoffing, Brienne reached down to retrieve her things, before straightening up again. "I was a total badass, not that you'd know anything about that," she said haughtily. "You were completely useless!"

His head reared back in shock. "I was being mugged!"

"Yeah, and whose fault is that?" she countered, and he sputtered, seemingly rendered speechless. "You could at least thank me."

Laughing shortly without humour, he threw his hands up in exasperation. "Thank you," he breathed, shaking his head again, and looking at Brienne expectantly.

She took a deep breath, studying his facial expression, and mulling over the tone of his voice. "Insincere," she decided.

Jaime blinked. "Excuse me?"

Pursing her lips, Brienne lifted a shoulder stubbornly, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't know, I just don't feel like you meant that."

“Are you serious? Of course I did," he protested, anger creeping into his words. When Brienne remained silent, expression unchanging, he sighed defeatedly, dragging a hand over his stubbled chin. "Fine. Thank you, Brienne. I am forever in your debt." He made an attempt to bow gallantly, earning another wince as he bent over.

"Okay, I'll accept that," she conceded with a nod. After a beat of silence, she narrowed my eyes. "What are you even doing out here, anyway?"

He placed a hand over the spot he'd just been sucker-punched, grimacing. "I was trying to sober up," he admitted begrudgingly, looking embarrassed.

"Me too," she replied, before realizing the weight of what he'd said, her eyes widening. "Wait, hold on, you're drunk? You? Jaime? Jaime Lannister?"

He frowned, matching Brienne’s stance by folding his arms over his chest. "You just admitted you are, too," he countered indignantly.

"That's different! Everyone expects this of me," she remarked, waving a hand dismissively. He was a fool, their situations were not even remotely the same. "You're Mr. Tight-Ass."

Jaime quirked a golden eyebrow, eyes filled with a combination of mirth and annoyance. "Mr. Tight-Ass?" he repeated, voice deadpan.

"Oh, don't act like you don't know," Brienne demanded, her nose curling in a mild sneer. "Every day you come into work looking like the fancy men's store ran out of your favorite hair gel. Or worse, the dry cleaner left a wrinkle in your shirt."

Blinking at her again, he scoffed. She could practically see his brain working, racing to come up with a counterpoint. Finally, he lifted his chin. "Alright, and you always come in with wind-blown hair and flushed cheeks because you're running late."

Another retort was on the tip of her tongue, before she paused, frowning. He visibly lost some of his confidence as the words settled in. "That just makes me sound attractive," she informed him, raising her eyebrows.

"That came out wrong," he stammered. "I meant to say it looks like you've been caught in a windstorm, and you're always late, so—"

"Nope," she cut him off promptly, holding up a hand, a slow grin taking hold of her mouth. "Uh-uh. No take-backs. You think I'm hot. Wow, I'm flattered."

He laughed in a way that sounded like he was trying to come across as tough, though it was clear he was panicking over having lost control of the situation. "Listen, we're both very drunk, and we were just in a tense situation, so I think emotions are running a little high," he reasoned calmly.

"And I think," she teased, "you think I'm hot."

Jaime remained silent this time, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, his eyes unreadable as he breathed out through his nose. Distantly, Brienne could still hear the laughter and the Christmas music continuing around the corner, but in the darkness of the parkade entrance, it felt very secluded, like we were the only two people out at this time of night. She held his stare, waiting for his next reply.

She fully blamed it on the alcohol, but it felt like Jaime’s attractiveness had suddenly multiplied tenfold. His jawline looked like it had been carved from marble by the gods themselves, his usually impeccably styled hair had been mussed up significantly, and his tie was hanging loose. He watched her with eyes that looked like they had been lit by a flame, and she swallowed, wondering when the atmosphere had changed.

Finally, Jaime shook his head jerkily. "Jesus, are you always like this?" he asked.

Brienne blinked. "Like what?"

"So—" he paused, pressing his lips together, before bringing his heated gaze back to hers, taking a step toward her. “So frustrating."

Something about the way he said the word made a thrill skate down Brienne’s spine. "I'm actually quite charming, if you take the time to get to know me," she said weakly, though it was a half-hearted attempt to lighten the air surrounding them.

“I don't know what it is about you," he continued, as though he didn't hear her response, his voice significantly softer, despite sounding every bit as exasperated, eyes still ablaze.

"Oh God, you really are drunk."

He nodded, taking another step. "I really am," he confirmed.

Brienne didn't move, refusing to look away from the face that was steadily inching toward her.

“What are the chances of either of us remembering this in the morning?"

"Slim to none, I hope," he remarked, reaching up to gently tuck a strand of her pale hair behind her ear, fingers grazing her chin.

It was Brienne’s turn to nod, her heart pounding. "Good."

Nearly before she’d finished saying the last word, her lips were pressed against his. It was unclear who'd made the first move, but suddenly, they were stumbling backward, until he was up against the outer wall of the hotel. He wrapped his arms around her waist tightly, rumpling her coat, and she looped hers around his shoulders, lifting a hand to mess up his hair a little more. They kissed as though they were passionately in love, instead of two colleagues who'd talked maybe, like, five times, and had just spent the past ten minutes arguing.

And he was a damn good kisser. Of course he was.

His stubble scraped against her chin lightly, and the combination of his warmth and the chill made goosebumps dot across her exposed skin. One of his hands went up into her hair, tugging her closer, and she shivered again, part of her wondering what the hell was happening, and most of her content to keep going with the flow.

It was quiet as their heavy breaths mixed together, and Brienne could feel her toes curling as her head began to spin. If she didn't know any better, judging by the way he was kissing her, it would seem like this was something he'd been waiting for, rather than something completely spontaneous and ridiculous. She had no idea how long they remained interlocked, but she wasn't about to put a stop to it.

This was arguably the most pleasant he'd been in the short time that they’d known each other.

However, all at once, he broke away, and it seemed that both of them came to their senses.

He looked positively horror-struck, and Brienne could feel her expression morphing to mirror his.

"What on God's green earth just—" I started.

"I—I don't know," he stuttered, mouth floundering, dragging a frantic hand through his hair. "I don't know." Abruptly, he shook his head, hurriedly gathering his broken watch, and wrinkled jacket from the ground, rambling the whole time. "I'm sorry. Pretend that didn't happen. That was inappropriate, I shouldn't have—"

Jaime stopped in the middle of his sentence, shaking his head again, pausing to blink at Brienne dazedly, before stalking toward the taxi line at the front of the Bronze Thicket, leaving her standing alone, cheeks flushed.

"Wait, Jaime!" she called out, making to follow him around the building on legs that felt like jello. She watched as he hastily threw his things into the back seat of a cab, climbing inside, and slamming the door shut.

She stood there for a few moments after his ride disappeared, staring into space with wide eyes. After a pause, she let out a strangled laugh of disbelief.

“Holy fucking shit."

—————

Sansa was in the middle of trying to extract herself from a conversation with Ramsay Bolton when Brienne finally located her in the ballroom.

The moment Sansa spotted Brienne rushing toward her, she gave her a look that was a mixture of relief and betrayal. Without taking the time to display any measure of tact, Brienne urgently latched onto Sansa’s wrist, hauling her away. "Sorry, Ramsay, lady emergency!" Brienne called over her shoulder. "I need to borrow a tampon."

Ramsay made a face of disgust, looking as though he was trying not to gag, more than happy to let them leave.

"Brienne," Sansa exclaimed as she stumbled along behind her. "You ditched me! Where the hell did you go?"

Brienne waited until they were out of everyone's hearing range, eyeing them all to make sure no one was watching, and pulled her off to the side, regarding her with serious eyes. "I think I just made out with Jaime," she confessed, her voice low.

Sansa choked on the sip of water she'd just taken, nearly dropping her glass. "You did what?” she cried.

“What's more, I think I liked it." Brienne made a face, replaying the events that had just transpired.

“What happened? What do you mean?" Sansa demanded, attention fully zeroed in on her now, and Brienne signaled for her to keep her voice down, waving her hand frantically.

Shrugging, Brienne shook her head. "I honestly don't blame him for wanting to kiss me. I had just saved his life in a very sexy way."

“Brienne." Sansa grabbed her arm. "Tell me what the fuck is going on."

Brienne told her what the fuck was going on, watching Sansa’s eyes steadily growing wider and more delighted the longer she spoke. As Brienne relayed the events of the evening, it occurred to her that the police should probably still be called, even for unsuccessful muggings. It was a risky move, though. Once they heard about her bravery, there was no doubt they'd want her to join the force, or at least, give her some sort of award. She wasn't sure she was ready for that sort of responsibility. She would have to get Sansa to call in her place.

Sansa, who was currently staring at Brienne, shook her head with a shit-eating grin.

"I knew it," she said decidedly. "I fucking knew it."

"Knew what?" Brienne asked, confused.

"He was totally checking you out before," she explained excitedly. She maintained her grip on Brienne’s arm as she stood on her tiptoes, scanning the room. "Where is he? Where did he go?"

Brienne threw her hands up in frustration. "He ran away like I'd just said I wanted him to father my children!" Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. She might not have been the most skilled partner in the world, but there was no need for him to kiss and ditch.

“Boo," Sansa said, pouting as she deflated.

Grunting in agreement, Brienne reached for the mug of hot apple cider that was offered to her by a waiter passing by. "Bah humbug," she grumbled bitterly into the rim, before taking a swig. "Whatever, it wasn't like I even wanted to kiss him in the first place."

It was true, she’d always known he was a jerk, and she made it a habit to not have fantasies about jerks, no matter how devastatingly attractive they might be.

Jaime had the right idea. The only thing left to do was to pretend it never happened.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m becoming more and more aware of just how quickly Christmas is coming, and maybe I’m panicking a little! Maybe I am! Anyway, enjoy the shenanigans.

Brienne tried to forget about the events of the infamous Christmas party—truly, she did—but over the weekend, her brain had proved itself to be a traitorous wench.

The damn thing was more than happy to let go of the majority of the night, but of course, her time with Jaime Lannister remained crystal clear, seeping into the corners of her subconscious, and ensuring that it made its way into her dreams. Multiple times. Despite her most valiant efforts, it seemed it would remain a permanent stain on her memories; the way his devilish hands had pulled her closer, his heady breath skating over her lips during the rare seconds they actually broke apart. Everything had felt natural in the moment, done without a second thought, or regard for future consequences.

It was disgusting. 

After her last one had ended unceremoniously over email—email of all things—she’d sworn off relationships for good. Men were alright in small doses, on Tinder dates where it was mutually understood they’d most likely never see each other again, or during flirty exchanges at the bar, where she could give them a fake phone number, and leave the night unscathed. She no longer daydreamed about settling down for a life of monogamy, or even hanging out with the same guy for longer than a couple weeks.

But now, all of a sudden, after one game of drunken tonsil hockey with a coworker, Brienne was fantasizing about someone who was probably going to be hell-bent on pretending she didn't exist moving forward.

Stifling a groan, she made a face, looking out the tiny sliver of window she could see from her position on the crowded monorail, gripping onto a pole and trying not to fall forward into the man in front of her. She watched as they glided past the science center, seeing the reflection of the early morning sunlight on the water. Her right leg bounced impatiently, earphones blasting ABBA in an attempt to distract her from her thoughts.

It wasn't working in the slightest.

And the fact that she would be seeing Jaime himself very shortly certainly didn't help.

Brienne exited the train at, following the flow of people moving up the escalator, trying to urge the mechanism to go a little faster. Being a morning commuter often made her contemplate hurling herself into the nearest sea. There were humans coming from what felt like every direction, and it was a strenuous task to stay the course and make it to the exit. After getting off the escalator, she shimmied her way to the main entrance, avoiding any and all eye contact, until she could finally escape into the morning chill.

Walking as briskly as she could manage, Brienne headed toward the office, ignoring all of the tourists lingering by the pricey souvenir shops. The moment the Accord office was in her line of sight, she quickened her pace, glancing at her phone briefly. Every day, there was a small, five minute window that determined whether Robert would be irritated, or downright angry about the time of her arrival. It was always a gamble. No matter what time she left the house in the morning, it seemed the universe would only allow her to make it to work during that particular wrinkle in time.

She exhaled heavily as she finally reached the front door, hastily pulling her earphones out and shoving them into the pocket of her coat, making an effort to tame my wild, pale hair as she hustled up the stairs to get to the main floor. The clock was ticking, and she had approximately thirty seconds before Robert would start calling her phone to ask her whereabouts.

Using her last burst of energy, and grimacing at the physical pain a single flight of stairs had put her in, Brienne latched onto the door, pushing it open dramatically and nearly falling into the room, out of breath.

The activity inside of the office stilled for a moment, the vast majority of her colleagues glancing in her direction, then turning away with a mixture of eye-rolls, and irritated sighs once they realized it was her. She was only slightly offended. Robert stood in the centre of the room, his arms crossed over his chest as he gave her his most rehearsed stern look. "Brienne," he greeted. "Late as usual.”

"Sorry," she breathed, yanking her scarf from her neck as she moved through the room toward her desk, bunching it up in her hands. "Overslept."

"I hope that won't be continuing into the new year," he warned, pointing at her, and slowly heading in the direction of his own office.

Brienne flashed him an apologetic smile, before noticing there was another pair of eyes watching her.

Jaime Lannister was standing near the coffee station, his eyes riveted to her face as he topped his mug off with cream. His expression was unreadable, and heat instantly rose to Brienne’s cheeks, her smile fading, as the memories of what had gone down between them flooded back to her yet again. He looked every bit as handsome as he had that night, maybe even more so, and it made her want to punch herself in the face repeatedly. This time, she couldn't use booze as an excuse.

The sight of his stubbled chin wasted no time in reminding her of the feeling of it grazing her skin, and his white-collared shirt was doing him many favours, a contrast to his golden hair, and dark eyes, which widened when he realized she’d caught him staring. He audibly cleared his throat, turning back to his drink in time to realize that it was overflowing, cream spilling down the sides and splashing onto the counter.

Jaime flinched, scrambling to clean up the mess, and Brienne slowly turned in the direction of Sansa’s desk across the room, sucking her cheeks in and raising het eyebrows as they shared a pointed look. Sansa looked pleased, lips curling into a barely contained grin as she lifted her own mug to her mouth, taking a meaningful sip of tea. Brienne narrowed her eyes at Sansa, sliding off her coat and settling into her chair, though she still felt disoriented. Her gaze flickered back to Jaime, where he was throwing his soiled paper towels into the garbage, before grabbing his mug and hastily heading to his workspace, much like he'd jetted off in a cab immediately after kissing Brienne like his life depended on it.

Judging by his reaction to her arrival, they were both failing miserably at forgetting.

—————

"Alright, everyone." Robert clapped his hands together in the small conference room, standing in front of the potted rubber tree that had been draped with Christmas lights in an effort to be festive. "Last official meeting before the break."

Brienne doodled on the page of her spiral notebook, adding eyes to a previously eyeless snowman, and trying to ignore Jaime’s obnoxious presence across the table to her left. She bit the inside of her cheek, going to great lengths to avoid looking at him directly, though she could still see him in her periphery, his elbow resting on the table as he leaned his chin in his hand.

"I hope everyone had a good time at the party on Friday," Robert continued, then stopped abruptly, snapping his fingers. Brienne glanced up from her paper as he turned to grab something from his bag. "Speaking of, before I forget." He pulled out a square, wrapped present, handing it to Jaime with a grin. "You left so quickly that you forgot to take your Secret Santa gift."

Brienne’s body stilled, and she could see Jaime go rigid, his eyes darting in her direction for the briefest moment, before he accepted the gift, wasting no time in tucking it away.

"Thank you," he said gruffly. He cleared his throat. "I'll, uh, open that later."

"It's from me," Ros, their marketing writer, pointed out, smiling expectantly.

He nodded, lips upturning fleetingly. "Thank you, Ros," he replied. "Looking forward to opening it. After the meeting."

"Did you have a family emergency or something?" she continued, tilting her head to the side. "No one even knew you left, you didn't say goodbye."

Brienne leaned her own elbow on the table, using her hand to discreetly shield her face as she took great interest in her drawing of the snowman, her pen strokes becoming darker.

"Oh, yeah," he remarked nervously. "Something came up. Sorry, everyone."

Robert seemed to pick up on the hint that Jaime no longer wanted the spotlight, and he was content to take over as he clapped his hands once more. Brienne glanced up at Sansa, who waggled her eyebrows, winking at her, and Brienne wished for a brief moment that they were sitting closer so she could kick her in the shin. She settled for a scathing glare instead, which Sansa happily ignored.

“Anyway," Robert began, settling his palms on the surface of the table as his eyes scanned over the room. "I thought we could use this time to brainstorm some new ideas for the coming year. The floor is open, so feel free to share your thoughts, and we'll discuss." 

Swallowing, Brienne looked around at her colleagues, waiting to see if anyone was going to volunteer, before awkwardly raising a hand, her pen still between my fingers.

“Yes, Brienne.” He gestured for her to speak with an encouraging smile. "What do you have for us?"

She straightened up in her seat, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and taking a glance at her notes. "Well, I was thinking we could use an issue to focus on something more local, like small, family-owned businesses and restaurants. I think our readers would appreciate having more places to explore within the city, and it would give these businesses some good exposure."

Robert’s eyebrows furrowed as he thought about her words, crossing his arms. "Hm," he hummed. "Okay. Interesting."

She suddenly had the urge to hide under the table. 

There was a beat of silence, before another hand rose slowly.

"Go ahead, Jaime."

The urge intensified.

Jaime rolled his own pen around between his fingers, contemplating Brienne’s suggestion with narrowed eyes. "With all due respect to Brienne, our readers don't come to Accord to read about small businesses," he countered confidently, and Brienne’s teeth clenched together in annoyance. "It would make more sense to do an issue on, say, expats living abroad, and how they find life on the other side. There are a number of internet personalities who already document their lives in foreign countries, I'm sure they'd be more than happy to do an interview. Our readers could gain more travel knowledge, and insight from trusted sources."

He finished, and Brienne peeked at Robert, anger flaring up at the impressed look on his face as he sat back, considering the idea. She glared back at Jaime, sure that her eyes were drilling large holes in his face, but it seemed as though he was making a conscious effort not to look at her, his jaw tight. "What do you guys think?" Robert asked, turning the question on everyone else in the room. He nodded at Podrick. "Intern, what would be better?"

Podrick flinched, looking caught off guard, before straightening in his seat. "Um," he stammered. "Jaime’s idea would be the most consistent with Accord’s brand."

He glanced at Brienne timidly, face paling once he saw her expression. 

Fucking Pod. 

"If I may," Brienne began, raising a hand again and turning to Robert. "That's the point I'm trying to make. An expat issue would obviously be well-received, because people expect that sort of content from us. A local issue would be a special edition that would encourage the idea there's always more to explore here at home, you don't have to travel halfway across the world."

"But people read our magazine specifically because they want to travel halfway across the world," Jaime replied, and Brienne met his eyes, seeing the challenge within them.

Her grip tightened around her pen. "Well, not everyone can afford to do that," she said pointedly, gaze dropping to his expensive shirt before drifting back up to his face.

“Our target demographic can," he remarked evenly, folding his hands on the table.

They remained in a silent war for several beats, neither of them daring to look away, until Robert spoke up, breaking the spell.

"The intern was right, Jaime’s suggestion better represents our brand, so let's run with that when we come back after the break," he decided, before turning to Brienne. "Brienne, we'll shelve your idea for now, thank you for sharing. Everyone good with that?"

Several other people murmured their assent, and Sansa gave Brienne a sympathetic look. Brienne shrugged in an attempt to appear nonchalant, folding her arms and leaning back in her chair.

The rest of the meeting was uneventful, and Brienne counted down the seconds until they were released, tapping her pen on her notebook impatiently. After Robert had dismissed them, she gathered up her things, eagerly bursting from the room, hot on Jaime’s trail as he headed for the kitchen, seemingly unaware of her presence behind him.

Once there, he reached into the fridge, grabbing a container of food and preparing to microwave it. When he turned around, he noticed Brienne for the first time, halting in his tracks and quirking an eyebrow.

"I think that we should talk," she announced, careful to make sure no one else was around.

He shook his head, resuming on his path to the microwave. "I'm not sure what you mean," he said lightly.

"You know exactly what I mean," she informed him, lowering her voice, not missing the way his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly at her words as he heated up his lunch.

Jaime turned to her. "No, I don't think I do."

Brienne folded her arms over her chest, an irritated frown etched into her face. "Also, while you're here, what was that about in the meeting just now?"

"Robert asked for ideas," he explained with a shrug, as if it should be obvious.

"Yeah, well, you could have shared yours without shitting on mine," she retorted, aware that her current behaviour was similar to a small child, and not caring in the slightest.

He sighed, turning to lean against the counter, sticking his hands into his pockets. "It wasn't personal, Brienne," he remarked tiredly. "And I wasn't trying to discredit you. It's not a bad idea, I just don't think it's right for our magazine."

"I don't think you're right for our magazine," she muttered under her breath, dropping her gaze.

He cocked his head to the side. "What was that?" 

"What? Nothing," she said, clearing her throat and straightening up. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably. "Anyway, I know you'd like to pretend it didn't happen, but I think we should talk about Friday night."

Jaime removed his food from the microwave, setting it on the counter. "I don't really remember much about the party," he stated, laughing shortly, and Brienne narrowed her eyes.

"Really," she said, her voice flat. Her eyes dropped to his wrist. "You don't remember what happened to your watch?"

He made a show of frowning, looking down at the broken watch face. "Must've been a crazy night," he said firmly, meeting her eyes again.

“Don't patronize me," she snapped, shaking her head, and he blinked innocently, though there was the tiniest hint of amusement in his eyes. She exhaled through her nose. “Alright, fine. If that's how you want things to be, two can play at that game."

He gave her a confused look. "What do you mean?"

She didn't know what she meant.

But without another word, she turned on her heel, storming out of the breakroom.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been on a real Sims binge lately, so it was embarrassingly hard to get myself to work on this. But I’m still having fun!

By Friday, it had become clear that the only weapon in Brienne’s arsenal was the silent treatment.

Outside, the sky had traded the constant downpour of a typical winter for the rarity of falling snow, and, naturally, the city had descended into complete chaos. No matter how many seasons of snow they had under their belts, it seemed people had no idea how to cope with it. If Brienne had thought the morning commute was hell before, it was a cakewalk compared to now. The majority of the trains were delayed because of snow getting onto the tracks, which meant the lineups to get on were astronomical, and when a train did eventually come, she was lucky if you could squeeze at least half of her body inside.

But the chilly precipitation and dip in temperature were nothing compared to the cold front she had established in the Accord office ever since the infamous meeting.

She’d ignored every sidelong glance, every nod of acknowledgement, and every “good morning, Brienne” that had come her way from Jaime’s direction. She didn't care that it was immature, or childish. In her expert opinion, it was justified. If he wanted to pretend they’d never kissed, then she would, too. The only difference was that in doing so, she had taken it upon herself to just ignore his entire existence.

It was a win-win.

And it was easy at first; the two of them had rarely talked before the Christmas party anyway, so it wasn't all that different. However, once Jaime had caught wind of Brienne’s antics, he started to make a conscious effort to go out of his way to greet her when she came into work—late, of course—and attempted small talk whenever she walked past his desk to the photocopier, or grabbed something from the breakroom. All of which she pretended not to hear, of course, taking great interest in whatever documents she was carrying, or acting like she just got a very important phone call that must be answered immediately.

Sansa’s last day of work had been Tuesday, and in her absence, Brienne had decided to make Podrick her office bitch, using him as an outlet when she needed someone to vent to, or simply as an excuse to not engage with Jaime in any capacity.

When it came time for Brienne’s morning coffee break, she stood up from her desk, where she had been very busily googling Christmas cat pictures, and headed for the breakroom. Sidling up to the fridge, she opened it to grab a container of yogurt, peeling the lid off, perfectly content to mind her own business, until a large paper cup with the Starbucks logo emblazoned on the sleeve slid onto the counter in front of her.

She blinked, staring at the drink for a moment, before her eyes shifted imperceptibly to the hand that held onto it, instantly assaulted by the smell of Jaime’s expensive cologne.

“This is for you," he said lightly, a hint of pride in his voice.

Brienne was quiet for a beat longer, processing, until the door opened, and she looked past him in time to see her favourite intern enter the room. Straightening, she threw a bright smile on my face. "Podrick!" she called out cheerfully, as if Jaime hadn't said anything. "There's my guy."

Podrick flinched at her voice, grimacing briefly, before gazing at the ceiling with mournful eyes. "Hello, again." He sighed wearily. "For the tenth time today."

Choosing not to acknowledge his lackluster greeting, Brienne grabbed a spoon from the drawer, leaning against the counter as she dipped into her yogurt, watching him with great interest. "Any big plans for Christmas?"

Next to her, Jaime stiffened, clearly slighted over being completely ignored, and in her periphery, Brienne could see him blink, his eyes shooting laser beams into the side of her face.

Podrick looked between the two of them hesitantly, side-stepping past Jaime to take out his water bottle from the fridge. "Uh, I guess," he told Brienne. “I'm flying home tonight."

"Fun," she replied brightly, as if she wasn't currently on the receiving end of a major death glare. "Are you excited to see your family?"

"I am," Podrick said, stretching out the words as he slowly closed the fridge. He paused. "Listen, I think I'm gonna go back to my desk."

"Hold on—"

Without waiting for Brienne to finish, he ducked past the two of them, hurriedly exiting the room.

Fucking Pod.

Before Brienne could make an attempt to follow him, Jaime stepped forward, holding the cup in front of her, and she bit the inside of her cheek, staring down at it.

"A peace offering," he said firmly, his irritation clear.

Pursing her lips, Brienne exhaled through her nose, trying to think of a way to extract herself from the current situation, but coming up blank. She supposed it was time to break her vow of silence.

"I didn't ask you to do that," she told him, looking up to meet his eyes, seeing the way they widened slightly over actually receiving a response.

After a moment, he recovered, quirking an eyebrow. "Are you speaking to me now?" he asked, not bothering to hide the undertone of amusement in his voice.

"Don't push it," she warned, staring at him seriously.

He seemed to heed her words, holding the cup a little higher. "I know you didn't ask," he remarked. "But I'm sorry for upsetting you. I wanted to do something."

Brienne scoffed, looking away, unsure whether he was referring to his fake kiss-amnesia, or being in a dick in the meeting the other day. Both offences warranted an apology. "And you think coffee is going to fix things? I don't even like coffee," she grumbled stubbornly.

“It's not coffee, it's a London Fog," he explained, the pride returning to his voice as he stood up a little straighter. "You usually get one at some point in the day, but I noticed you didn't have one yet."

"Yeah, because the weather is ass, and I didn't want to go outside," she explained angrily. Then her eyes widened. "Wait, how do you know that? Stalker."

He fixed her with a flat look, unfazed by the accusation. "You always say ‘it's London Fog time, bitches’ to Sansa, then leave the office and come back ten minutes later with one in your hand."

Heat flushed to Brienne’s cheeks as she dropped her gaze, shoveling a spoonful of yogurt into her mouth angrily. "Okay, fine. I'm predictable. So what?"

"Anyway," he said pointedly, and when she looked up, she saw the hints of mirth glittering in his dark eyes. "It's yours, if you want it."

Brienne considered, staring at the object in his outstretched hand.

It was her favourite drink, and he was clearly trying to extend an olive branch, no matter how flimsy it might've been. Inconspicuously, her eyes shifted to the window, where a flurry of white was still falling down to the streets below. She looked back at Jaime, noticing for the first time that the tip of his nose was red, his cheeks rosy, and his hair not quite as neat as it typically would be. As much as she didn't want to admit it, the fact that he had gone out and braved the weather specifically to buy her Apology Starbucks did mean something.

With a sigh, she tossed her empty yogurt container into the recycling bin, taking the cup from his hands, pretending she didn't notice when their fingers grazed, his lingering a little longer than necessary.

“Fine," she said again, sounding defeated. "I'll take it, but only because you went out in a snowstorm. And forgiveness is in the spirit of Christmas."

He nodded once, making a valiant effort to keep a straight face, despite seeing very pleased that she had accepted his gift. "Of course. Absolutely."

Brienne pointed a finger at him in warning. "This doesn't mean I'm not angry with you anymore, though," she said firmly. "I still think you're kind of a di—"

"Got it," he broke in, cutting her off effectively.

Swallowing her insult, Brienne straightened, nodding. She pursed her lips, tucking a strand of pale hair behind her ear. "Well, thank you," she remarked, and he tilted his head to the side curiously. She lifted the drink higher. "For this. Only this."

"You're welcome," he replied sagely. "For that."

Not feeling the need to say anything else, Brienne moved past him to finally leave the breakroom and make her escape, once and for all. But it wasn't long before he stopped me again, speaking up just as she was about to reach the door. "Hey, Brienne," he said softly.

She turned around expectantly, eyebrows raised. For a moment, he said nothing more, simply holding her gaze, expression unreadable, and she stared back, feeling her heart thump erratically in her chest. It was entirely different from the way he'd looked at her before they kissed, but it still brought her back to that moment.

And then he cleared his throat and the normal, professional Jaime returned as he nodded cordially, switching gears.

"I hope you have a good Christmas," he told her, voice polite.

She side-eyed him suspiciously, feeling confident that wasn't what he intended to say. "Thanks," she murmured. "Me too. I mean—you too. I hope you have a good Christmas, too."

Turning around again, Brienne left before she could give herself the chance to make a bigger ass of herself, warmth returning to her face as she stalked out of the breakroom.

“God damn it, Brienne," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head.

For now, it seemed she and Jaime had struck up a tentative truce.

But God only knew how long it would last.

—————

Robert called Brienne into his office near the end of the day.

When she entered the room, he was leaning back in his chair, swiveling back and forth with a contemplative look on his face, his fingers steepled together. She stood there expectantly for a few moments, while he stared at the floor with narrowed eyes, remaining silent.

Finally, his blue eyes leveled on her, appearing determined. "Let's get strunk."

Brienne waited a beat longer.

"Pardon me?" she asked, when it became clear that was all he was going to say.

He took a deep breath, straightening up in his chair with a curt nod. "You heard me. Strunk. We need to be strunk."

Brienne’s head began to shake before he'd finished the sentence. "Robert, no,” she said tiredly, pinching the bridge of her nose.

He shrugged his shoulders, looking defensive. "Why not?”

"I don't think you know what that means."

His expression fell, looking crestfallen. "It's taken? I really thought I invented that one."

Brienne shook her head again helplessly. "I told you, you need to look these up on Urban Dictionary before you try them out on me."

“Damn it," he breathed, eyebrows pulled together in a frown. He leaned his elbow on his desk, foot tapping impatiently as he brainstormed.

“What did you want it to mean?" Brienne asked.

He raised his eyebrows, looking out the window wistfully. "I wanted something to motivate everyone, like ‘hey, guys, let's get strunk today,’ and then everyone would be inspired to work really hard."

Brienne sighed. "Is this all you called me in for?" she asked, slowly edging toward the door.

"No," he said, shaking his head as if to clear it. "I need you to stay late tonight."

Her shoulders immediately drooped, her eyes widening. "What? It's the last day before the break."

Robert had the sense to look sympathetic, giving her a smile that was a mix of rueful and stern. "I know, it's unfortunate," he remarked. "But I've looked over your article, and there are a lot of revisions for you to make. And the deadline is today. You know the issue is being released tomorrow."

"Then I'll work on it at home," she protested, body growing tense with frustration. "It's unfair to make me stay here by myself."

He pressed his lips together firmly. "You haven't proven yourself to be very reliable when working from home," he countered.

She scoffed, holding back an eye-roll. She forgets to record an at-home Skype interview with a high-profile socialite one time, and everyone remembers it forever.

"Besides," he continued lightly. "You won't be alone. Jaime needs to stay behind, too."

Her heart stopped, eyes flickering in the direction of Jaime’s desk through the office window. The man himself was working diligently, staring at his computer with furrowed eyebrows, fingers typing away at a rapid pace. He seemed to sense her stare, pausing and making eye contact, and Brienne quickly looked away before their gazes could linger.

Denial was her only option.

Taking a step away from Robert’s desk and closer to the door, she laughed boisterously, slapping her knee. "That's funny, it sounded like you said I would have to spend my evening with Jaime," she joked, latching onto the doorknob.

"I did—"

"Anyway, I should get back to work." She grinned. "See you later, boss."

"Brienne," Robert called, and the solemn tone of his voice caused her to freeze in her tracks. "I'm serious about this. You and Jaime are staying late tonight."

Brienne gestured to the window. "But the weather is terrible!”

"All the more reason to get things done as soon as possible.”

They stared at each other for a few beats longer. Brienne realized she was fighting a losing battle.

Begrudgingly, she nodded, holding back a pout, and Robert seemed to accept her answer, dismissing her to leave the office. She turned around, reaching for the doorknob again, and twisting it open.

“Fuck me," she muttered, mouth pulling into a scowl as soon as her back was to Robert.

"What?" he asked.

Forcing a smile on her face again, Brienne whirled around again. "Strunk me," she said enthusiastically, pumping a fist into the air.

Robert brightened, smiling and nodding appreciatively. "See? We can still make it work," he remarked.

She gave him another close-lipped smile, before exiting the room and making a beeline for her desk.

Her truce with Jaime was already weak, and she was quite certain being cramped together in the office for hours on end would do them a lot more harm than good.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we can all agree that this story is just going to continued beyond Christmas because it’s, uh, literally this week (oh god, oh fuck). Anyway, this chapter turned out a lot longer than I thought it would. Enjoy!

With a dramatic sigh, Brienne leaned back in her chair, swiveling back and forth slowly, her phone pressed to her ear. She lifted a finger to twirl a strand of hair as she pouted at the open article on her monitor, next to the revisions Robert had typed up for her.

“Well, that just isn't fair," her father’s voice was muffled through the phone, though his indignation was clear.

Brienne scoffed, raising an eyebrow in agreement. "I know. It's the opposite of fair," she lamented.

He paused. "What if I talked to him?" he suggested, a hint of hopefulness to his voice.

Brienne sighed again, shaking her head, looking despondently across the room to the closed door of her boss' office. "You can't talk to Robert, dad. He's already made up his mind."

"But what about our dinner tonight?"

“Cancelled. Postponed. Rain check," Brienne stated somberly, her eyebrows pulling together. It occurred to her that she could've used plans with her father as leverage to get Robert to let her go home early, but he was well aware he only lived a block away from her, and that they saw each other on the regular, so it was bound to fail, anyway. "Sorry, dad."

"That's just silly," he said disapprovingly. Then he sighed, sounding resigned. "I suppose I should put this chicken back in the freezer."

Brienne’s stomach grumbled slightly at the thought of her dad’s homemade cooking, and she cast another glare in the direction of Robert’s office. This was cruel and unusual punishment. Sitting up straight in her seat, she reached for a pen on her desk, clicking it absentmindedly.

"Hey, would you mind stopping by my place and checking on Calcifer?" she asked, a frown of worry creasing her eyebrows. "I don't like leaving him alone so long.”

He tutted. "You and that damned cat," he remarked, and Brienne could envision him shaking his head. "The way you dote on him leaves no room for any other men in your life."

Brienne had Calcifer, her grouchy, black rescue cat for several years—named after the fire demon of the same temperament from Howl's Moving Castle—and it had been love at first sight. They both hated most other people, but had a soft spot for each other. It was a match made in heaven. Or hell, depending on how you looked at it.

Her dad and Calcifer did not get along. He’d accidentally stepped on his tail once and it had all gone downhill from there.

"Fine by me," Brienne said, scoffing. "So, is that a yes?" 

"Yes, Brienne, I will check on your precious cat," he told her, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"You're the best," she assured him, before a figure approaching her desk caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. Tormund Giantsbane, a strong contender for resident douche number three, was currently making a beeline in her direction, causing her eyes to widen. "Maybe I can come for dinner tomorrow."

Tormund grew closer, smiling once he realized he had her attention, and she stiffened in her seat, dreading whatever was about to happen.

"I have yoga in the morning, but I'm free the rest of the day," her dad was saying, though Brienne only half-heard the words, distracted by Tormund hopping up to take a seat on the edge of her desk.

"Mm," Brienne hummed in response, side-eyeing him. He held up his hands, gesturing to her phone, as if to tell her to take her time. She blinked, before slowly swiveling in het chair until her back was facing him, trying to pretend he wasn't there. 

“Well, I suppose I should let you go," her dad announced. "I know you have a lot of work to do. We can talk more tomorrow."

Brienne began to panic at the thought of no longer having an excuse not to speak to Tormund. "Actually, I'm not busy at all right now, I'd love to keep chatting."

"Brienne," he scolded. "You need to work on your article. Stop procrastinating." 

“But—" 

“Do it for the cat."

He had her there. 

"Fine," she grumbled. "You're right. I'll talk to you later."

"I love you," he said.

"Love you, too," Brienne replied, before the call was disconnected. She held the phone up to her ear a moment longer, debating whether or not to pretend she was still talking with him, but over the years she’d learned that the best way to deal with Tormund, besides not dealing with him at all, was to do it quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, lowering the phone, and turning her chair back around. 

"What?" she asked bluntly.

Tormund smirked before reaching up to sweep a hand through his ginger hair. "I have a pitch for you," he announced, pausing for dramatic effect. 

Brienne gave him a serious look. "Please don't waste my time."

"Don't worry," he said hastily. "This will only take a second. Just picture this: You. Me. A—"

"You've already lost me," she remarked, shaking her head and turning back to her monitor. She pretended to go back to work, typing random things into her document.

He cleared his throat, growing visibly irritated, but tried to recover, still maintaining his charming smile. He held up his hands again in a gesture of surrender. "Hear me out," he urged, and she stopped typing, leveling her gaze on him once more. "Seeing as you're the hottest girl in the office—" he began.

“This is off to a bad start," she interjected.

"And I'm the hottest guy—" 

"Debatable." Her eyes flickered briefly in the direction of Jaime’s desk against her will, but it escaped Tormund’s notice.

He trudged on as if she hadn't spoken. "It makes sense for us to... you know," he said, and the way he placed emphasis on the last two words made Brienne feel like the yogurt she’d had earlier was going to make a reappearance.

She didn't bother to hide her grimace, shaking her head.

"All I'm saying is, if you don't have anyone to kiss on New Year's Eve, you know where to find me," he finished, winking, then waiting for her response.

She blinked at him for several beats.

"If you don't walk away from my desk in the next five seconds, I'm telling HR you propositioned me," she said tonelessly.

"Right," he said quickly, before hopping down from his perch with a nervous laugh, stalking back toward his desk.

Brienne rested her chin in her hand, watching as he took a seat, wasting no time in packing up his things, a flush of embarrassment in his cheeks. Guys like him were obsessed with displaying a false sense of bravado, and it gave her a twisted sense of pleasure to watch it crumble beneath her fingertips, making way for the raging insecurities lying just beneath the surface.

Maybe she was evil. She didn't care. 

She was about to return to her work, preparing to delete all of the nonsense she’d typed while trying to avoid Tormund, when she felt a gaze on her face that was becoming quite familiar. Looking up, she met Jaime’s eyes. She only got a quick look at his face, taking note of the hint of amusement in his features, and the sight of him trying to suppress a smile, before he looked away, clearing his throat, but it was enough to tell her that he'd just witnessed me brutally shut down their fellow colleague. 

She bit the inside of her lip, holding back her own smile, and feeling an inexplicable swell of pride in her chest as she returned to her document, furiously pressing the backspace button on her keyboard.

—————

It was a strange feeling, watching all of her coworkers vacate the office one by one, a parade of people leaving her with nothing but empty holiday wishes and half-sympathetic glances.

Notably, Podrick left without saying goodbye.

Robert was the last one to leave, sternly reminding her of her deadline, then making her stand up so he could give her a hug that was far too enthusiastic, wishing her a merry Christmas.

And then there were two.

The office had been silent for the past fifteen minutes since everyone had left, with nothing but the click of their respective keyboards, and the occasional sigh. The room somehow felt more full with only she and Jaime inside, instead of less so. She found it hard to focus with him being the sole person in her periphery, and she was hyper-aware of all her movements.

Brienne’s article was on the most unique Airbnb homes around the world, and it was one that had required a great deal of research that had led to her checking her bank account and crying, knowing full well that she’d never be able to afford to stay in any of them. Despite this, she’d enjoyed working on it at the time. However, that didn't mean she wanted to spend an entire evening stuck at work, changing things and rearranging them until she questioned who thought it was a good idea to give her access to a keyboard in the first place.

Staring wistfully at a photo of a lush rainforest, one of the Airbnb locations, Brienne sighed, leaning her chin into her hand. Discreetly, she looked in Jaime’s direction. His face was pulled into a frown as he sat back in his seat, staring at his monitor with his arms crossed, one hand running over his stubbled chin thoughtfully.

Brienne fidgeted with her fingers, feeling the weight of the silence in the room, a hint of nerves in her chest. It was weird, being alone with him like this, neither of them acknowledging it. The last time they’d been properly alone together was at the Christmas party, and it had been an absolute trainwreck. It would be smartest to keep their distance.

But then again, there was a ninety-nine percent chance she would lose her mind if they kept on in silence like this.

Steeling myself, Brienne pursed her lips together, sitting up straighter in herseat. "What are you in for?" she asked lightly, and Jaime blinked, flinching slightly at the sound of her voice.

“Pardon?"

"Why are you being punished by staying late?" she clarified.

Jaime grunted, leaning back in his chair and dragging a hand across his face tiredly. "Robert has me doing a final read of these articles for the issue tomorrow. I thought I'd be more productive if I stayed here." He gave her a brief, close-lipped smile.

It took Brienne a second to process his words, and when she did, she felt her posture stiffen, her fingers curling into loose fists. "Wait, you're proofreading all of the articles?"

He nodded, shaking out his hands a little. "Yeah," he confirmed, sounding somewhat sheepish. "It's not really common knowledge, but Robert is slowly trying to give me more responsibilities. Gearing up for a promotion next year."

Everything he said after ‘yeah’ went in one ear and out the other, Brienne’s teeth gritting.

"You're editing all of the articles," she stated flatly.

He blinked, looking confused. "Yes," he said, drawing out the word.

Son of a bitch.

Brienne let out a humourless laugh. "So, what you're saying is, you're the reason I have to stay here late?"

Jaime cringed visibly, making a face.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Brienne shook her head. "Seriously? You really have it out for me, don't you? Why am I the only one who had to stay?"

"I mean, I'm here too—"

"By choice," she stopped him, holding up a finger, and raising an eyebrow. "We are not the same."

Brienne’s eyes fell to the half-empty Starbucks cup still sitting on her desk, and her anger flared as a new thought occurred to her. She picked it up, lifting it higher to make sure he could see. 

“Is that why you bought me this? Because you knew you were making me stay late on the last day of work?"

His eyes widened. "What? No, I meant what I said earlier," he protested, sounding slightly flabbergasted. "And I honestly didn't know—"

"Un-fucking-believeable," she remarked, standing up from her desk. Clenching her teeth, she headed over to the coffee bar. She took off the lid, tossing it on the counter, as Jaime watched, looking at her as though she had completely lost her mind. Holding his gaze, she dumped the remainder of the liquid down the sink.

"Brienne, come on," he said incredulously.

"I don't want your pity Starbucks," she told him, throwing out the empty cup, before storming back to her desk. "I won't be so easily bought."

Sitting down again, she reached for her bag, rifling through it angrily.

“Brienne, I don't have a personal vendetta against you," he reasoned, sounding tired. 

She ignored him, glowering, as she located her earphones. He scoffed, shaking his head, as she stuck them into her ears, plugging them into her phone.

“Back to this, are we?" he questioned.

She leveled him with a glare, hitting shuffle on her music, and turning up the volume. She could see his lips move, but make no sound, and once she felt she had made her point, she lifted her chin, turning back to her monitor with a renewed passion like an ignited flame.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jaime scoffed again, before clenching his jaw, turning back to his own work.

As far as Brienne was concerned, he had just sealed his fate. The next time she stumbled across him getting mugged, shewas just going to let it happen.

—————

For the next three hours, Brienne worked on the article with laser focus, listening to Lay All Your Love On Me on repeat, her lips pursed and her brow furrowed, as if her life depended on it.

It was her sole mission to make sure this article kicked Jaime Lannister’s pompous ass. Apparently, the key to her productivity was the idea of sweet, sweet revenge.

But finally, around eight o'clock, she sat back in her seat, satisfied, and feeling confident there was nothing left to be critiqued. She took a deep breath, nodding to herself, before putting a stop to the ABBA song blasting in her earphones, standing up to gather her things.

Brienne hadn't so much as spared a glance in Jaime’s direction since he betrayed their truce, but he cleared his throat when she reached for her bag.

Stifling an eye-roll, she met his eyes. "What now?" she asked.

"I—" he paused, hesitating, before sighing. "I need to look over your article again before you leave. Robert’s orders."

Kiss-ass, she thought darkly. Though to his credit, he had the decency to look uncomfortable. And incredibly irritated.

Wordlessly, Brienne leaned over to her keyboard, sending the article to him. She straightened, watching him expectantly, waiting until he nodded, confirming that he'd received it. While he read over it again, she continued to gather her things, still feeling certain he wouldn't find anything wrong with the piece. At this point, even if he did, she was getting the hell out of there.

He pored over the article thoughtfully as she slid on her coat, looping her scarf around herneck. After several moments, he sat back, taking a deep breath, nodding again. 

“This is good," he confirmed. "Really good, actually."

Brienne side-eyed him, feeling suspicious, and proud at the same time somehow. "I should hope so," she said haughtily. "Do I have your permission to leave, Warden?"

He gave her a flat look as he stood from his own chair, grabbing his jacket from the back and slipping it over his shoulders. "I think it's time for both of us to get out of here." 

“Thank God," she breathed, waiting until he had gathered all of his things, then following him to the stairwell, stopping to turn off all the lights in the office.

Silently, they shuffled down the stairs, heading for the exit. Jaime reached it first, latching onto the handle and pushing, but he came to an abrupt halt, nearly running into the door.

Brienne made a face, watching his cheeks burn a little brighter, eyebrows furrowing as he tried again. He still didn't open it, and she cocked her head to the side, frowning. He tried several more times, growing more frantic on each attempt, as her foot tapped impatiently.

Finally, she grew tired of waiting, stepping forward. "For God's sake, man. Let's go home."

He paused, his back facing her. "Brienne, it won't open."

She laughed shortly. "What do you mean?"

He turned to her. "I think it's stuck."

Shaking her head, Brienne latched onto his arm, pulling him back and gesturing for him to make room. "It can't be stuck. Here, let me try," she said confidently.

Jaime stepped out of the way, a concerned expression twisting his features. 

Brienne twisted the doorknob, pushing as hard as she could. 

It didn't budge. 

“No," she said. 

She tried again. 

“No, no, no," she breathed, panic creeping into her chest as she jostled the door to no avail.

Jaime shook his head, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "We're snowed in."

"This cannot be happening." 

She flung herself to the window next to the door, her fingers splayed across the cool glass, trying to peer through the darkness. A blizzard of white was being unleashed from the heavens, and beneath the lamplight, she could see the sidewalks covered in solid snow that looked far too deep to be legal. A feeling of dread settled deep in her stomach. 

In that moment, all her beliefs about death and the afterlife were confirmed.

Hell was real, and this was it.


	6. Chapter 6

Brienne’s head thumped against the door wearily, her eyes closed, hand gripping the doorknob as she twisted it helplessly. 

It was no use. Not even after forty-four tries.

Brienne groaned, pulling het head back enough so that she could let it fall forward and hit the door again. Half-heartedly, she lifted her free hand to push against the door, fully aware she didn't have the slightest chance of making it out of this building through sheer force of will. 

"Thank you," Jaime said from behind her, speaking to whoever was on the other end of the phone, and sounding defeated. "That's helpful to know. I appreciate you taking the time to—"

Thump.

He paused, and moments later, Brienne’s eyes flew open as he took hold of the loose fabric on the back of her coat, tugging her backward gently to stop her pattern of banging her head against the wall.

"I appreciate you taking the time to answer my call," he repeated, giving Brienne a side-eyed look of disapproval.

She glared at him, her forehead throbbing as she shook off his grasp, righting herself and straightening out her coat. He rolled his eyes, before turning his attention back to the phone call, nodding seriously. Taking a deep breath, he grimaced for the briefest of moments, then forced a tight-lipped smile onto his face.

"Thanks again," he said, before sighing heavily, dropping the phone into his pocket.

Rubbing the sore spot on her forehead absentmindedly, Brienne regarded him warily. "That sounded like bad news," she stated, her voice guarded.

"It was," he remarked, dragging a hand over his face, casting his eyes toward the window. "The city is trying to work on clearing the roads, but there's not a lot they can do, we're still in the middle of a blizzard."

Brienne’s shoulders slumped as she groaned again, heading to the exit, preparing herself to try again. Maybe if she got a running start, she could force it open. How powerful could a pile of snow be, anyway?

"Brienne," Jaime protested, grabbing her arm to stop her. “You've been trying for twenty minutes, nothing has changed."

"God damn it," she muttered, throwing her hands up. "Who the fuck thought it would be a good idea to install a door that opens outwards?"

He shook his head, at a loss. "I haven't the slightest clue," he admitted, sighing again before placing his hands on his hips, levelling Brienne with a gaze. "Well, seeing as we're going to be here a while, we may as well get comfortable."

Brienne narrowed her eyes, watching as he turned to go back up the stairs to the office, remaining rooted in place. Jaime paused, turning to look at her over his shoulder and quirking an eyebrow. "Are you going to wait in the stairwell all night?" he asked dubiously.

Crossing her arms, Brienne lifted her chin. "Maybe. What are my other options?"

“Going back to the office where there's comfortable chairs, and coffee, and vending machines," he said, his voice flat, not impressed by het antics.

"Okay, and?" she urged, raising her eyebrows. 

"And?" he repeated, a frown of confusion capturing his features.

"What else?"

He blinked at her, shaking his head slowly. "That's it. There's only two options." 

Brienne leaned back against the wall, pretending to examine hernails. "Yeah, I think I'll stay here." 

"What? Why on earth would you do that?" 

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes evenly. "You'll be in the office."

Jaime scoffed in disbelief, glancing at the ceiling, and poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. He inhaled through his nose, shaking his head again. "Right. Exactly how long are you going to stay mad at me?"

“I don't know, Jaime," she told him, cocking her head to the side, a challenge in her voice. "It's your fault we're stuck here, how long do you think I should stay mad at you?"

His jaw tightened, and he descended the rest of the stairs, coming to stand in front of her. "Brienne, none of this was intentional," he said firmly. "I didn't know we'd be here so long, and God knows I can't predict the weather."

"You singled me out," she remarked, not budging. He laughed once without humor. 

“Actually, I didn't," he replied. "I genuinely had no idea you would have to stay late."

Brienne waved a hand dismissively, rolling her eyes. "Spare me."

"No," he said, folding his arms over his torso. "Let me explain, since you didn't before, and it looks like we won't be getting out of here anytime soon, so I know you have plenty of time to listen." Brienne opened her mouth to retort, but he held up a hand to stop her, raising an eyebrow in warning. "Robert sent me the articles anonymously." 

Brienne closed her mouth abruptly, frowning. "Wait, what?" 

“I told you earlier, he's giving me more responsibility, but it's the first time he's allowed me to do something like this, so he wanted to make sure I wasn't biased," he explained seriously. "I swear, I didn't know the article was yours. Everyone had revisions to make, and most of them were minor. Things that could be fixed up quickly. But yours stood out to me. I thought it was great, and had a lot of potential, and could even be the feature article of the issue, but it needed a little extra work to get it there." 

Brienne’s frown deepened as she processed the words, still not quite sure whether he was complimenting her, or insulting her.

He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to understand. "I think you're really talented, Brienne," he told her sincerely. "I wanted the article to be perfect, because I believed in it the most." 

Brienne was silent for a few more moments, as he tried to gauge her reaction, and despite herself, she felt warmth growing in her chest, a fluttery feeling in her stomach. Biting the inside of her cheek, she tried to remain nonchalant. "Really?" she asked, side-eyeing him.

Jaime nodded once, the slightest of smiles tugging at his lips. "Really."

“Thanks," she said softly, and they maintained eye contact for several beats, before Brienne caught herself, clearing her throat. "But this is still your fault."

Lifting her chin, she slid past him, heading up the stairs, grateful her back was to him so that he couldn't see her smile. She heard him chuckle faintly, before he made to follow her, his footsteps echoing hers as they ventured back into the dark office. 

—————

Across the room, Jaime yawned from his seat at his desk, resting his elbows on the surface, and blinking tiredly. Brienne had opted to sit at het desk too, slumped in her chair, swiveling back and forth as she mindlessly scrolled through social media, seeing what people who weren't physically trapped inside a building were up to tonight. 

Her dad had informed her that Calcifer was perfectly fine, and was choosing not to acknowledge his presence. He truly took after his mother. He’d also reassured her that he would look after him until she was able to make the trek home, which at least gave her some peace of mind. 

Abruptly, Jaime stood up from his desk, reaching up to loosen his collar before sticking his hands into his pockets. "I suppose it would be useless to order delivery," he remarked wearily. "To the vending machine it is." 

Brienne grunted in quiet amusement, only half-listening as he started to make his way to the breakroom. But then a new thought occurred to her, and she straightened up in her seat. 

“Wait!" she called out, and he paused, turning to look at her over his shoulder. She smiled conspiratorially. "I have something better."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Do I want to know what it is?"

"You do," she assured him, standing from her chair, and leading the way to the breakroom.

There was a special cupboard nestled behind the door; nobody used it because of the inconvenience, and the constant fear that someone would walk into the room and unintentionally knock them out. Brienne had quickly claimed it as hers once she realized this. Stopping in front of it, she gestured to the cupboard proudly, het lips still pulled into a smirk. Jaime appraised het expectantly, eyebrows raised. 

“How do you feel about various meats, cheeses, and crackers?" she asked.

He looked mildly disgusted. "Shouldn't you keep some of that in the fridge?"

"I do," she said defensively, "I'm not a barbarian. It's mostly the crackers in here, and—"

She opened the cupboard with a flourish, grinning wickedly as his dark eyes landed on the contents inside. She latched onto the bottle of Pinot Grigio, holding it out to him.

"This," she finished.

He took the bottle, looking slightly bewildered, laughing shortly as she moved to grab the other things from the fridge. "Why do you keep all of this here?"

Brienne opened the door, bending down to reach the package of cheese. "Sansa and I sometimes have charcuterie nights," she explained. "Gotta do something to make this place bearable." 

Taking a deep breath, she set the rest of the ingredients on the counter, turning to face Jaime with her hands on het hips, raising an eyebrow.

"What do you think, hotshot? Satisfied?" she asked.

He seemed somewhat speechless for a moment, before laughing again. "I mean, yeah. This'll be great. Beats the vending machine by a mile."

Brienne nodded once firmly, before reaching into the cupboard to grab the wine glasses, as Jaime sifted through the drawer for a knife to begin slicing up the meat. They worked in silence, preparing our feast. Charcuterie was an art, one that she practiced many a time, and she only hoped Sansa wouldn't feel betrayed that she had let Jaime in on their little secret. In her defense, the circumstances were very unique, and the alternative was the garbage from the vending machine. Even Sansa wouldn't doom her to a fate as cruel as that.

As they worked, Brienne peeked at the man next to her out of the corner of her eye, surprised that she currently wasn't having a hard time tolerating his presence. The chaotic part of her was tempted to bring up The Kiss again, to see if he would acknowledge it now that the atmosphere wasn't so hostile. But it wouldn't be wise to disturb the peace, she didn't know how long they would be stuck there, and she didn't want to spend hours stewing in anger. 

For the time being, the truce was back on.

Together, they carried their makeshift meal to the table, and with the way they laid everything out, it turned out to be quite the impressive spread. Jaime took a seat, loosening his collar a little more, as Brienne cracked open the bottle of wine, pouring some into each of their glasses. Once she’d finished, she took the chair across from him, and he held up a glass, as if to make a toast.

Brienne and Sansa would typically say, “clink, clink, bitch,” and get on with it, but it didn't seem quite as appropriate now. Besides, some traditions were far too sacred to be shared.

"Cheers," Jaime said simply. 

Brienne supposed it would suffice.

Smiling, she tapped her glass against his. "Cheers," she echoed, and their eyes locked as they took the first sip. Brienne swallowed, enjoying the bitter taste as it coursed down her throat, and leaning back in her chair. "So, what's the first thing you're going to do when we get out?"

He laughed. "You make it sound like we're spending twenty years in prison," he remarked, placing a slice of cheese on top of a cracker, and popping it into his mouth. She realized her eyes had fallen to his lips, watching their movement, and she quickly cleared her throat, straightening in her seat as he hummed appreciatively. "My compliments to the chef."

Brienne thought about his former statement for a moment. "Does this place not feel like a prison to you?" 

“I actually quite like it," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "Most of the time, anyway. But when we eventually make it home, my first order of business will be to sleep. What about you?" 

She grabbed a grape off the stem, tossing it into her mouth. "I'm going to hug my cat to the point of near-suffocation. And then I will also sleep, so I can be fully rested for dinner with my dad tomorrow."

His lips lifted in a wry smile. "That sounds like a solid plan." He took another sip of wine. "Do you have any other family out here?" 

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "It's just us. My mum and siblings passed when I was a kid. Car accident."

"I see." Jaime hummed again, tearing off a piece of prosciutto. "I just have my brother here," he explained conversationally. "My mum also passed when I was a kid, and my father and sister decided to move away years ago." 

Brienne considered this, studying him. Even though she’d only known Jaime for a couple months, the idea that the majority of his family lived far away seemed to make sense, to make parts of his personality add up. He was reserved, not appearing to be the type to let anyone get too close. It was odd, now that she thought about it. She saw the man nearly everyday, passively observing who he chose to interact with, and yet, she didn't think she’d be able to actually pick out who he genuinely liked.

Swirling her wine in her glass thoughtfully, she tilted her head to the side. "When will you get to see them next?" 

“I've got a trip booked for February," he told her, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth, his dark eyes looking slightly brighter.

"Oh, that'll be nice to—“

A sudden distant crashing sound brought her words to an abrupt halt. 

Brienne and Jaime shared a wide-eyed look, which also served to be an unspoken, mutual agreement. They rose to their feet, steadily creeping out of the breakroom toward the entrance of the office. In her head, Brienne was thinking a rat was wreaking havoc in the walls. It had happened last year, it could certainly happen again.

She followed Jaime carefully, scanning the quietness of our surroundings, searching for any kind of disturbance, but failing to see anything out of the ordinary. 

“Do you think someone else is in here?" she whispered warily, eyeing the metal water bottle on her desk. 

"I have no idea," he whispered back, his posture rigid.

He held up a hand, making for her to stop, and they paused, listening. Almost as soon as they’d stopped, the crashing sound came again, louder this time, and Brienne yelped, squeezing her eyes shut. There was a scrambling of commotion, and when she opened her eyes, she realized she had launched herseld into Jaime’s arms in her moment of fear.

Jaime didn't appear to mind though, looking equally spooked, his fingers gripping her forearms tightly. They locked eyes in wordless panic, stuck in their intertwined position, before their gazes shifted to the entrance to the stairwell. 

Brienne watched as the doorknob twisted, edging closer to Jaime as he tightened his grip.

With a flourish, the door swung open, revealing Sandor, the building's janitor. 

Brienne swallowed a scream with great difficulty. Sandor was donned in his dark grey jumpsuit, a vacuum in his hands, a corndog hanging out of his mouth. A frown creased his features at the sight of them, and when he spoke, his voice was muffled. 

"What the hell are you two doing here?"


	7. Chapter 7

Brienne took a slow slip of her second glass of Pinot Grigio, slouching in her seat as she stared at the man across from her.

Sandor had decided to help himself to what was left of their little meal, stuffing his face like a complete animal. Brienne’s nose crinkled slightly as she watched crumbs trail down his face, landing on the surface of the table, as he ate as though he hadn't seen food for forty days. It was nearly unbearable, but she likened it to witnessing a car accident unfold—it was basically impossible to look away.

Swallowing, she shared a side-eyed look with Jaime, who had chosen to occupy the seat to her left. He looked equally appalled, though there was no way he could truly understand the pain she was in. Unlike her, he wasn't well-versed in the art of charcuterie.

After a torturous silence, he cleared his throat, sitting a little straighter in his chair. Sandor didn't seem to notice, constructing a tower of cheese and crackers. Brienne scowled in disgust. 

“So, Sandor,” Jaime started, his voice light and uncertain. The man in question paused in the middle of wolfing down a piece of prosciutto, eyeing Jaime dubiously. "We've established why Brienne and I are here after hours. I still don't understand how you were able to get in the building, though."

Brienne raised her eyebrows. The guy raised a good point. After questioning their presence, Sandor had offered no explanation as to his own, choosing instead to saunter into the breakroom and ravage their spread as if it had been waiting there just for him. But if he'd been able to get in, surely there had to be a way for them to get out.

Sandor shrugged, swallowing an oversized mouthful. "I came in through the door, just like everybody else," he said simply, his voice gruff.

Brienne made a face, and Jaime met her eyes again, looking skeptical.

"You came here in the middle of a snowstorm, and you were able to just waltz through a door that's been blocked with piles of snow," he stated flatly, lifting an eyebrow.

Sandor snorted. "No, genius," he retorted. "I've been here since yesterday morning." 

Brienne blinked, shaking her head. "Wait, what? You slept here last night?"

He barked out a laugh. "More than just last night, sweetheart," he remarked, resuming his task of consuming everything in front of him. "I've slept here for months. Storage cupboard under the stairs." 

Brienne’s eyes widened in horror. "Why?"

How many times had she walked by that storage cupboard? How many times had Sandor been on the other side of that door? Her mind raced, trying to think of everytime she’d bustled in and out of the entrance to the office, wondering if she’d ever said or done anything stupid. Most likely yes. How much had he overheard? 

Sandor didn’t answer.

Beside her, Jaime seemed speechless. "Does—does Robert know about this?" he spluttered, shaking his head in disapproval. 

At that, Sandor sobered up, his face growing stony as he brought his eyes up to meet Jaime’s coldly. "No," he said firmly, reaching across the table to point an angry slice of cheese in Jaime’s face. "And you're not gonna tell him."

Jaime leaned back in his chair, lifting his hands in surrender. "Right." He laughed nervously, before visibly swallowing. Sandor narrowed his eyes, nodding once, before relaxing his posture.

As Sandor finished up the last of the crackers, Jaime plucked his own wine glass from the table, looking at Brienne meaningfully. She frowned, watching as he slowly tilted his head toward the door behind them, raising an eyebrow. Wordlessly, he stood from his chair, making for the exit, and gesturing for her to follow him.

Glancing back at the man across the table, she rose to her feet, gripping her own glass. She was about to leave the room, following in Jaime’s wake, before she paused, staring back at the items on the table, pursing her lips. She had to choose wisely. Thinking quickly, she latched onto the bottle of Pinot Grigio, tucking it to her chest and whirling around before Sandor could protest. 

When she made it to the exit, she glanced over her shoulder, but Sandor hadn't even looked up. She crept into the hallway, closing the door quietly behind her, leaving him to his own devices. Her eyes did a sweep of the empty office, eyebrows furrowing, until movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention.

The door to the conference room was open just a crack, and Jaime peeked around it, waving her inside. Stifling a grin at his unneeded secrecy, Brienne hurried over to him. Once she was safely inside, Jaime closed the door again, leaning against it to keep it shut tightly. He took a deep, calming breath, and she set the wine bottle on the table, regarding him with a raised eyebrow, feeling amused.

"Are you afraid of the janitor?" she asked, unable to keep from smirking as she swirled her drink around in her glass. "Do you need me to beat him up for you?" 

Jaime glowered at her. "I'm not scared," he protested. "It's just... three's a crowd. That's all." 

Brienne lifted a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug, and took a sip. "Sounds like fear to me," she quipped.

"You're more than welcome to join him," he countered with a challenging look, crossing his arms. "But judging by the way you were looking at him as though he'd slaughtered your entire family, I don't think you want to."

The humor instantly left her face, and she fought the urge to whimper, thinking of the ruined charcuterie. "I don't want to talk about it," she said mournfully.

Chuckling to himself, Jaime took hold of the wine bottle, topping off his glass. "That's what I thought." 

—————

After one too many glasses of wine, Brienne sprawled on the floor, flat on her back, watching the ceiling fan spin above her. It caused her vision to swim, a wave of dizzying nausea passing over her, and she swallowed. "Do you think we'll die in here?"

Next to her, Jaime grunted, his gaze also riveted to the ceiling. "Brienne, it's been four hours." 

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Oh, God," she lamented, rolling over. "This is the end. I'll never see my cat again."

"We're not going to die," he reassured calmly. "I'm sure we'll be out of here by morning."

The thought did little to placate her. She was going to spend the last moments of her life with the janitor. And Jaime fucking Lannister.

Solemnly, she rolled over to face him. She couldn't remember how they’d ended up on the floor, but it felt right. Peaceful, almost. Sometimes things made more sense when she was laying on the floor. She stared at his face openly, but he didn't seem to notice, mesmerized by the twirling blades of the fan. She bit down on the side of her lip.

The urge to ask him about the Christmas party returned. After all, it would be a shame to die without discussing it. But then she thought about it some more. What difference would it make? Did she really want him to tell me the kiss didn't mean anything, and was merely a drunken mistake? She already knew how he felt about the situation. He wanted to bury it, forget it ever happened.

His lips parted absentmindedly, and she watched their movement. She looked at the strands of hair that had fallen across his forehead, remembering how they felt when they were threaded through her fingers.

She didn't know what she wanted. 

“Brienne," he said suddenly, his voice low as his dark eyes shifted to meet hers, and she flinched, cheeks flushing.

Jesus Christ. When had she gotten so sappy? 

"What?" she asked, folding her arm beneath her head, and inwardly telling herself to get a grip. They’d kissed once, big deal. She’d kissed many mouths, and been completely fine afterwards. This was no different.

"How would you feel if I ended up taking Robert’s position one day?" He pressed his lips into a firm line.

Her eyebrows furrowed at the question, and she wondered where it was coming from. His expression was sincere, vulnerable, earnestly anticipating her answer, as though he genuinely respected her opinion. Her, the girl who had basically wanted to murder him for revenge just hours ago.

"Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "I don't know," he murmured. "I've only been here a couple months. I feel like I'm an outsider who's just swooped in. I thought that would make you upset."

Mulling over his words, Brienne looked at the ceiling again. "It doesn't make me upset," she said genuinely. "Sure, you haven't been here very long. But it's easy to see how much you care about the magazine, and root for its success." She paused, rolling her eyes. "And, maybe, every now and then... you have good ideas. Sometimes." 

Jaime’s lips quirked. "Thank you." 

“Don't get cocky about it," she replied, side-eyeing him.

His smile spread slightly. "So, you wouldn't quit if I were in charge?" 

She snorted at the notion, shaking her head. "Oh, absolutely I would. You don't control me," she remarked. 

“Oh," he said, smile fading. 

She looked at him in disbelief, watching as he made an attempt to hide the gutted expression on his face. He was entirely too easy to fool. Reaching over, she poked his arm. 

"Jaime," she started, unable to keep the laughter from her voice. "I'm kidding. You'll have to pry this job from my cold, dead hands."

His features relaxed, though he looked slightly embarrassed at believing her words. "Right," he quipped. "Hilarious." 

She rolled her eyes again. "I know I'm insufferable ninety-percent of the time, but I have a charming sense of humour the other eight-percent."

He frowned. "What's the final two-percent?"

Inhaling through her nose, Brienne thought for a moment. Her lips curved upward. "Pure sex appeal."

To her surprise, he barked out a laugh. She bristled, wondering if she should be offended. "So, what you're saying is," he began. "You're ninety-percent insufferable. Eight-percent charming. And two-percent sexy. That's how you're choosing to describe yourself."

Lifting her chin, Brienne decided she should be offended. "I know who I am," she said simply, but he continued to laugh. "Alright then, asshole, what's your equation?"

His laughter petered out, and she watched as he crossed his arms beneath his head. "Hm," he hummed, and the sound was warm. She rolled onto her stomach, sweeping her hair out of her face and looking at him expectantly. "I'd say I'm eighty-percent driven, ten-percent personable, and... ten-percent cowardly." 

Brienne raised an eyebrow. "Clearly you're giving yourself too much credit," she teased.

Jaime narrowed his eyes, reaching out to poke her arm. "Jerk," he remarked.

Ignoring the jab, she propped her chin up with my elbow, tilting her head to the side. "Why cowardly?"

Pursing his lips together, he inhaled deeply through his nose. "I don't know," he admitted. "I'm not like you. You're brave."

Immediately, her cheeks flamed, and she laughed awkwardly at the unexpected compliment. "What do you mean by that?"

He pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning back on his palms as he shrugged casually, though his dark eyes were alight with interest. "You're not afraid to say what you think," he explained. "Even in a conference room full of your superiors, and people who are older than you. It's intimidating."

She made a face, crinkling her nose. "Superiors," she said emphatically. "I've known most of those people for years. Besides, that shouldn't intimidate you. What are you, like forty?" 

“Thirty-six," he countered defensively, glaring. 

"Okay, fine," she replied, raising her eyebrows, squirming until she was sitting up too, crossing her legs. "Right there, you've got four years on me. Thirty-six and gunning for Senior Editor of a magazine you've worked at for, like, two months. That's pretty bad-ass."

Jaime was silent for a moment, though she could tell by the look on his face that he was flattered.

"You've just gotta own it, my guy," she told him simply.

He grunted softly in amusement. "Maybe you're right," he said finally.

"I'm rarely wrong."

Giving her a wry look, he lifted an eyebrow dubiously. She batted her eyelashes in response, and he rolled his eyes, chuckling and shaking his head. She grinned.

But maybe she’d been wrong about him. He wasn't nearly as pig-headed as he first seemed, once she actually took the time to talk to him. When they first met, she’d been quick to assume he hated her, but perhaps he'd always just been shy, and she misinterpreted his short conversations. 

Alternatively, it was also viable that he truly had hated her until precisely this moment.

Either way, he was slowly making his way into her good books.

Apart from one small matter, of course. 

His denial of the kiss.

It would probably be alright to ask him now, with the atmosphere of camaraderie in the air, and the wine flowing through their bloodstream. All she wanted to do was have him address it, to acknowledge its existence, and then they could forge further into this new, tentative friendship, and let bygones be bygones.

It was time to bite the bullet. 

“Jaime," she said softly, and he cocked his head to the side at her suddenly serious tone. "I have to ask you something."

"Sure," he replied, eyebrows furrowed. "What is it?" 

She took a deep breath, stalling. "I need to know—"

A vibrating noise brought her to an abrupt halt.

Jaime sighed, seeming a little irritated, before looking at her apologetically. "Hold that thought," he said, sliding his phone from his pocket. But his irritation rapidly faded when he saw who was calling. He quickly answered the call, bringing the phone up to his ear. “Tyrion. What's up?" 

Brienne frowned, watching his expression, heart still beating a little faster at the words waiting to fall from her lips.

All at once, Jaime’s shoulders relaxed, and he closed his eyes, exhaling. Moments later, he pumped a fist into the air excitedly, causing her flinch. "Oh my God. Thank you," he remarked. "You're my hero. See you soon."

After ending the call, he dragged a hand over his face, though he was smiling. She looked at him quizzically.

"What was that about?" she asked.

He met her eyes. "That was my brother," he explained eagerly. "He works for the city, and his shift just ended. He's gonna come to clear the snow in front of the door so we can get out." 

Brienne’s eyes widened, and her hand shot out to grab his arm. "You mean—" 

“Exactly." He grinned, finishing her thought. "We're not dying here tonight."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you didn’t think I’d update so fast! This chapter is fun. The next one will be fun too. ;)

"It’s like Christmas is coming early," Brienne breathed, leaning back in her chair contentedly. 

Jaime quirked an eyebrow, propping his elbow on the arm of the chair across from her, and resting his chin in his hand. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, taking a moment to appreciate the scenery. His stubble seemed to have grown darker throughout the course of the evening, his golden hair mussed from lying on the floor, though still managing to look purposely tousled. She smoothed down her own hair self-consciously though she was sure it was beyond saving at that point.

The darkness of his eyes used to seem cold to her, but now, after spending more time with him, it was easy to see that they were undeniably warm. Her gaze drifted to his collared shirt, where the top button had become undone at some point in the night. The sight of it caused her mind to wander, before she caught herself, biting the inside of her cheek, and sitting up straighter in her seat.

There she went again, internally writing poetry about his appearance.

She blamed the wine. It was both her best friend, and her worst enemy. 

“It'll definitely be nice to get out of here," he agreed, and it took Brienne a second to remember that she’d even said something that warranted a response.

That was right, they were discussing finally escaping this hellhole. 

She perked up at the thought, filling with excitement once more. "So. Your brother. Is he cute?" she asked bluntly. It was a valid question, she was curious if good looks ran in the family. Besides, gauging Jaime’s reaction would be fun. Something to kill the time.

His eyes widened, surprise flickering across his features. "What?"

"Is he single?" Brienne continued, raising her eyebrows.

He laughed awkwardly, hints of red visible on his cheeks. "That seems a bit premature," he pointed out. "Don't you think?" 

She frowned, tapping her chin, going on as if she didn't hear him. "What's the name of that syndrome where you fall in love with your saviour? Because I think I have it." 

"Jesus, Brienne," he protested, looking affronted, shaking his head in disbelief. Her lips twitched. "You haven't even met the guy."

Shrugging, she lifted a hand to twirl some of her hair around my finger, feigning innocence. "Love before first sight is a thing," she told him simply.

Jaime’s gaze remained riveted to her face for several beats, an expression of slight irritation on his face, before he recovered, mimicking her shrug. "Alright, well I wish you two the best," he quipped. 

Brienne smiled. "Maybe we'll invite you to the wedding."

He rolled his eyes amicably, relaxing once he realized she was teasing. "Lucky me," he remarked sarcastically. Eyebrows furrowing, he thought for a moment. "Hey, where's your place again?"

"Far east-side," she replied, turning her chair from side to side, frowning at the change of subject. "Why?"

He let out a low whistle. "You're going to have a hell of a time trying to get back there tonight," he stated grimly.

Crinkling her nose, Brienne thought of her usual thirty-five minute commute, fighting the urge to gag. It would be next to impossible under the current circumstances. But she had to do it. For Calcifer. "It's okay, I'll figure something out."

Jaime watched her for a moment, lips pressed together firmly, a look of concern pinching his features. After a brief pause, he spoke, eyes intense. "Come home with me." 

Brienne nearly fell out of her chair.

"Pardon me?" she asked feebly, cheeks flaming as she righted myself, and he seemed to realize the implication of his words, his expression contorting in embarrassment.

"I just meant—it would make the most sense," he stammered, laughing nervously. "My apartment isn't far from here. And it would give me some peace of mind."

"Right," she blurted, nodding too quickly, embarrassed at reading too far into the statement. "It makes sense. That's right. Thank you for the offer."

Reaching up, he scratched the back of his neck. "No problem," he said, clearing his throat. "We could always drop you off at a hotel if you're more comfortable with that."

"No, no, that's not necessary," she protested, lifting a hand. It was an innocent proposition, and a rational solution. So why was her heart suddenly beating so fast that she was worried it was going to explode out of her chest and land on the table with a splat?

"Then it's settled," he remarked, nodding jerkily. He let out an awkward chuckle, and suddenly Brienne felt too squirmy to sit still. Uncomfortable situations were far from her forte. 

She pretended to check an imaginary watch on her wrist. "What time is it?" she asked, changing the subject abruptly. "He must be nearly here. I should get my stuff together."

"Right," Jaime agreed eagerly, "I should get mine too." 

They sprung up from their seats simultaneously, making to leave the conference room and head to the main area of the office. But Brienne didn't get very far before the combination of being flustered, standing up too quickly, and the amount of wine in her system made her stumble, her footsteps faltering.

"Oh my God," she managed, nearly catapulting to the floor, before a pair of arms collected her, and she found herself tucked up against Jaime’s chest.

He looked at her with wide eyes, darting over every inch of my face. "Careful," he said. 

"Head rush," she explained, laughing nervously, realizing her fingers were gripping the collar of his shirt. She didn't move them.

"You good?" he asked seriously, hands steady on her waist. 

She nodded, not daring to look anywhere but his eyes. "Yeah," she breathed.

He nodded in return. "Okay," he replied, his voice low.

They stood there with bated breath, neither of them making any moves to disentangle.

"Thanks," she murmured, not knowing what else to say. 

“Anytime."

Another wave of silence.

His gaze dropped to her lips. 

Her breathing hitched.

In the next moment, his mouth was on hers. Unlike the first time, Brienne was pretty confident she was the initiator, her fingers tightening on his collar as her free hand slid behind his head, pulling him closer. In an instant, he lifted his own hand to cradle her cheek, securing her in place, his arm wrapping around her waist firmly. 

Brienne felt herself sinking into him, picking up the pace, eager to experience the feelings she’d replayed over and over in her head every time she looked at him. Up until this point, she had been too stubborn to admit she’d desperately wanted to kiss him again since the exact second he'd pulled away from her outside of the Bronze Thicket.

Her hand slid from his collar to his chest, and she splayed out her fingers, enjoying the feel of his pulse racing beneath her touch. There would be no denial, no feigning of ignorance this time. The way he was kissing her was completely intentional, and despite the alcohol, he was definitely more than coherent enough to process what he was doing.

This was a far cry from a sloppy, drunk kiss outside of a hotel.

He pulled away for a second, and Brienne’s eyes fluttered open, fingers curling when she registered the burning intensity of his expression. "Brienne," he murmured, voice full, and her stomach flipped.

Unable to control herself, she tugged him toward herself again, pressing a kiss to his jaw, causing him to exhale, before returning to his lips. Words were overrated, anyway. They’d have plenty of time to talk later.

"Jaime?" 

A distant and unfamiliar voice immediately brought Brienne to her senses, as though a bucket of cold water had been dumped over her head.

Without a second thought, she shoved Jaime away from her, and he stumbled backward, looking bewildered. Swallowing, he dragged a hand through his hair hurriedly, before straightening out his shirt, and she reached up to fix her I own hair, swiping a finger around her mouth in case any of her lipstick had strayed, her heart pounding in her chest. 

“Yeah?" Jaime replied, his voice rough. He cleared his throat. 

“The car's running, and I'm freezing! Get your ass down here," the voice, who Brienne presumed to be Tyrion, called up the stairs.

Jaime swallowed again, staring at her. "Be there in a second," he remarked loudly. "We're just grabbing our stuff!"

At his words, she scrambled to her desk, latching onto her jacket and throwing it around her shoulders, before frantically looping her scarf around her neck. Jaime stalked toward his own desk, putting on his coat haphazardly, and tossing things into his bag.

There was no time to process what had just happened, but Brienne’s mind was still going a mile a minute, capable of little more than ‘holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck.’ She slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder, following Jaime to the stairs, before coming to an abrupt halt.

"Wait, Jaime!" she whispered hastily.

He stopped, turning in her direction. She took a step closer to him, reaching up to smooth her thumb across his lips, clearing away the hints of her lipstick. His mouth was soft beneath her finger, eyes intent on her face, and she had to fight the raging desire to kiss him again. When she was finished, he looked at her quizzically, and she showed him her stained thumb. 

“Thanks," he said, lips quirking in amusement.

God, he was attractive.

His gaze lingered on her for a beat longer, before he turned, quickly making his way down the stairs, and she followed suit, trying to get her mind out of the gutter in order to make meeting his brother less awkward than it was inevitably bound to be, given the current circumstances.

—————

It had been confirmed, good looks definitely ran in the Lannister family.

Tyrion was shorter, and decidedly more unkempt, his hair curling under his ball cap, his scruff more prominent, though it was still clear to see God had favoured him, too.

That being said, Brienne still preferred his brother.

"How long were you going to keep me waiting?" he grumbled once they came down the stairs, rubbing his arms and shivering in his puffy overcoat. "I texted you ages ago!" 

Brienne bit the inside of her cheek, peeking at Jaime guiltily.

“Sorry," Jaime apologized, refusing to look in her direction. "My phone is on silent, I didn't notice." 

"Whatever, at least you're here now," Tyrion said, sighing, before his eyes shifted in Brienne’s direction curiously.

At that, Jaime turned to her, placing a hand on her back, before thinking better of himself, and quickly returning it to his side in the most obvious way. “This is my colleague, Ms. Tarth," he explained, sounding stiff. He cleared his throat. "She had to stay late as well."

Brienne and Tyrion side-eyed him at the formality.

She stepped forward, smiling and holding out a hand. "Brienne," she corrected warmly. "Thank you for rescuing us."

Tyrion complied, returning her smile and adding a nod. "Tyrion. My pleasure." He released her hand. "Now, come on. We can all get to know each other better on the way home."

He made for the door handle, before pausing, turning to look at Brienne over his shoulder. "Speaking of, where's home for you?" 

Brienne opened her mouth to speak, but Jaime beat her to the punch. "She's all the way out on the east-side," he explained, sounding nervous. "I said she could stay at my place tonight. It just makes the most sense." 

Tyrion raised his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side.

"It makes the most sense," Brienne echoed eagerly, feeling the need to defend the innocence of the decision. "Logically, rationally, geographically, economically..." She trailed off when Jaime gave her a warning look. She swallowed, before finishing meekly. "All the... all the ways." 

“Right," Tyrion said slowly, drawing out the word. "Well, makes things easier for me." 

“Exactly," Brienne agreed.

His lips curled into a smirk. "It's been a long time since Jaime brought a lady home."

Jaime immediately cringed, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. "For God's sake, Tyrion," he ground out through clenched teeth. Brienne suppressed a smile.

Tyrion shrugged innocently. "What? It's true." 

"Didn't you say the car was running?" Jaime said with a scowl, though his face had turned red. 

Tyrion grinned cheekily, reaching out to clap his brother on the back, and pausing to wink at Brienne, causing her face to burn, before pulling the door open and heading out into the blustery cold outside.

Jaime avoided her eyes as he followed after him, and she did the same, securing the door behind her. He dug around in his pockets, searching for his keys to the building, before sliding them into the lock.

"Do you have the feeling we're forgetting something?" she asked, eyebrows furrowed. 

He paused after twisting the key, thinking. "Not really." 

Brienne’s eyes widened, and she reached out to grab his arm. "Sandor," she exclaimed. "We didn't tell him he can leave the building now." 

He closed his eyes at the realization, shoulders slumping. "Shit," he muttered. 

She grimaced, twisting her fingers. "Should we go back and tell him?" 

Jaime looked at her out of the corner of his eye, seeming to be internally debating. There was no doubt he was probably replaying the man threatening him, wielding a piece ofcheese like a criminal. He looked up at the window to the office.

"I mean, I'm sure he'll be alright," he said, glancing at her for reassurance. "Don't you think?" 

"Totally," she agreed emphatically, nodding. "He practically lives there, anyway."

Once Jaime turned around, satisfied with her answer, she cut my eyes back to the building, narrowing them. She glared at the breakroom window. 

“That's for the charcuterie, asshole.”

Turning on her heel, she picked up the pace, following after the Brothers Lannister.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)

The ride back to Jaime’s apartment was treacherously slow, and filled with awkward small talk—the former was due to the roads, and Brienne assumed the latter was a pre-emptive measure on Jaime’s part to keep his brother from making any more potentially lewd remarks. 

Brienne barely noticed, though. Her mind was still stuck on something Tyrion had said earlier, about the last time Jaime brought a girl home. As if that mattered. But she couldn't stop myself from wondering: who was she? A past girlfriend? A one-night stand? Bernadette from finance? And while she was at it, just how long exactly was a long time?

Biting the inside of her lip, Brienne kept her eyes riveted to what she could see of Jaime’s face. When he met her gaze briefly, she cleared her throat, looking out the window instead.

‘Get it together, Brienne,’ she chastised mentally. 

The past was entirely unimportant. Besides, they’d only kissed. Twice. It was nothing in the grand scheme of things. She had no idea where their relationship even stood between the making out and the various denials, but she supposed she was bound to find out tonight, seeing as they were still stuck together for a considerable number of hours.

Tyrion finally pulled to a stop outside of Jaime’s apartment complex, sidling up to the curb and letting the car idle. 

Jaime reached out to clap his brother on the shoulder. "Thanks again," he said sincerely. "I was not looking forward to camping out at work all night."

"Don't mention it," Tyrion replied, waving a hand dismissively. "But drinks are on you next time. Don't forget."

Rolling his eyes amicably, Jaime pushed the car door open, stepping outside. "Right."

Tyrion looked at Brienne over his shoulder. "You can come too, Ms. Tarth. We'll have dinner. Your treat." 

She laughed, as Jaime opened the door to the backseat, allowing her to slide out. "Sounds like a plan," she said, giving him a mock-salute.

Once they were safely outside, Tyrion pulled away from the sidewalk at a snail's pace, his tires struggling to get traction on the snowy street, sliding a little bit. Brienne winced, both from the flurry of snowflakes landing on her face, and the sight of him trying to right himself. 

She turned to Jaime. "Do you think he'll be okay?" she asked.

His eyebrows were pinched as he watched his brother. "He lives close," he assured her. "He'll be alright."

Nodding, Brienne pulled her coat up so it was shielding her head a little more. "Okay, cool. Can we go inside now?"

"Yes," he replied eagerly, placing a hand on her back and holding his bag up over their heads as they hurried to the entrance. 

She side-eyed him, wondering where this chivalrous version of Jaime had come from, but she wasn't one to complain. She happened to enjoy the closer proximity. Because of the cold, of course. And his face didn't hurt. 

They reached the building, stepping inside of the entrance, stamping their feet on the mat to shake off the snow. Brienne waited as Jaime used his key fob to unlock the main door, and they stepped into the lobby. She was unsurprised to see that it was nothing short of immaculate, especially compared to the old-ass apartment she called home. She tried not to gawk at the intricate vases and wide array of greenery as she followed him into the elevator, watching as he pushed the button for the ninth floor.

One of the walls of the elevator was a full-blown mirror, and she peered at their reflection. They were a combination of flushed cheeks, and blonde hair that was becoming damp with flecks of snow. She caught his eye in the mirror, and his lips lifted in a small smile. Her cheeks flushed, and against her better judgement, she replayed the words he'd said to her at the office. 

“Come home with me.”

Oh, fuck.

He'd made it clear afterward that his intentions were innocent, and he had her best interests at heart. He really just wanted her to not have to worry about getting home safe.

But that had also been before she kissed him. 

Now, she didn't know what to think.

One thing she did know, however, was that elevators were awkward as all hell.

Silence stretched between them as they ascended, and Brienne averted her eyes, looking at the number of the floors as they increased. On the fourth floor, an old woman stepped on, and Jaime greeted her quietly, as Brienne shuffled closer to him to make room, giving her a fleeting smile. And then it was back to the quiet. When she got off at the sixth floor, Brienne took a step away from Jaime again.

Finally, they reached number nine, and he led the way to his unit, sliding his key out of his pocket to unlock the door. He glanced at Brienne over his shoulder as he pushed it open, allowing her to step inside first. 

“Home sweet home," he remarked, letting the door fall shut behind them, flicking on the lights. "It's a little bit messy, you'll have to forgive me. I wasn't expecting company." 

Brienne’s eyes widened as she stepped further inside, setting down her things and slowly sliding off her coat. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but after the lobby and the elevator, she really should've anticipated fancy. Everything was sleek, modern, and minimalistic. Jaime Lannister down to a T. It was an open concept flooring plan, the kitchen melding into the living room, and she was quickly drawn to the balcony, and the view of the city stretching outside of it. 

She stopped in front of the sliding doors, not brave enough to open them and face the cold again, but she was still able to admire the twinkling lights, and sparkling snow falling to the ground. 

“Wow," she breathed, unable to keep her wonder to herself. 

Turning around again, her eyes did a sweep of the apartment, not seeming to spot anything out of place, despite his warning. He watched her expectantly, a hint of pride on his face at her clear astonishment. 

Brienne shook her head. "How the hell are you able to live here without having to charge at least two people rent to sleep in the living room or on a mattress in a closet somewhere?"

He laughed, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly. "My grandparents gave us a lot of inheritance money," he admitted.

Shaking her head again, Brienne pressed her lips together, scanning the line artwork on the walls. "You rich bastard," she muttered good-naturedly.

Quirking an eyebrow, he held out his hand for her coat, and she passed it to him, still feeling dazed. "Why don't you have a seat? Can I get you anything to drink?"

As he headed off to hang her jacket in the closet, she took a seat at the island, hopping up onto a stool. "A cup of tea might be nice," she replied, eyeing all of his seemingly brand-new appliances and marble countertops. Her father would've killed for this kitchen. Maybe literally. 

"Sure," he said, returning from his task and opening up a cupboard. "What kind?" 

“Hm," she hummed thoughtfully. "Chamomile?" 

"You got it." 

“Thank you." She smiled.

He selected a box, pulling out a tea bag and grabbing a mug, before filling an electric kettle with water and turning it on. Brienne’s phone buzzed in the pocket of her dress pants, and she reached for it with a frown, remembering at that precise moment that it would most likely be wise to tell her father she would not be coming home tonight.

When she saw the name of the sender, she resisted the urge to roll her eyes up to the ceiling.

"Oh, God," she groaned, shoulders slumping. "Giantsbane is texting me." 

At that, Jaime whirled around, eyebrows pinched. "What? Why?" 

Brienne pretended to gag, making a face at the words on her phone. "Let me read it," she said, before clearing her throat, preparing to drop her voice an octave to mimic Tormund. "'Have you left work yet? I know the weather outside is frightful, but I'd be happy to warm you up. In more ways than one.' And then a winky emoji." She paused. "Oh, Jesus. He listed some of the ways."

As she spoke, Jaime walked around the island, coming to peer over her shoulder, and looking displeased. Distantly, the kettle beeped, announcing that it was finished, but he didn't seem to notice. He scowled as he read the parts she hadn't wanted to verbalize. "That's very inappropriate," he said, voice low and irritated. "Does he always talk to you like that?" 

She shrugged. "Every now and then," she remarked. "It’s not as bad as poor Sansa having to put up with Ramsay Bolton. Maybe he's finally accepting that she has a girlfriend, though."

He hummed in disapproval, shaking his head. "What are you going to say back?" Peering at her in the corner of his eye, he went to deal with the kettle, pouring hot water into a mug, before passing it to her, as she considered.

After much deliberation, Brienne sent back, ‘Who is this?’

Moments later, he replied. ‘It's Tormund, babe.’

She crinkled her nose in disgust. He seemed to think that winter break meant that all lines were blurred. 

"What are you saying?" Jaime asked, trying to sound nonchalant, and failing.

Sighing, Brienne ignored him, typing out another message. ‘Tormund who?’

Smirking, she watched as the three little dots indicating that he was typing appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared once again. ‘Tormund Giantsbane? From work?’ 

‘Never heard of him,’ she texted back. ‘You have the wrong number.’ 

Once again, he seemed to struggle with what to say. After nearly a full minute of changing his mind, he finally settled on, ‘Shit, sorry. She must have changed her number.’

Brienne snorted, setting her phone on the counter, only to see that Jaime was still keeping a watchful eye on her, looking somewhat concerned. 

"You're not going over there... are you?" he asked hesitantly. 

She made a face. "Jaime," she said flatly. "Here." She slid her phone across the surface, passing it to him, and he picked it up, eagerly reading the messages.

Raising her eyebrows, she took a slow sip of tea, watching as his shoulders relaxed, a grin lighting up his face. He nodded after he was satisfied, passing it back to her. "Very nice," he said appreciatively.

"That should buy me some time," she remarked. "At least until we get back to work."

Jaime’s phone buzzed, and he frowned, checking it, before laughing shortly. "He just asked me for your number." 

Brienne rolled her eyes, sticking her tongue out, pretending to be dead for a brief second. "Do not reply," she warned. 

"I won't," he assured her, raising an eyebrow, but he stared at the phone a moment longer. "Imagine if he knew we were together right now."

He said the last words quietly, and she wasn't sure if they were more for her or for himself. Her cheeks warmed a little. Tormund would've absolutely blown a gasket if he knew she was spending the night with Jaime, however innocent it might have been. 

“I'm gonna FaceTime my dad," Brienne announced, changing the subject. "Just to let him know where I am. And to see my cat."

"Sure," he replied, nodding. "Do you want me to give you some privacy?"

"No, that's okay," she said, navigating to her messages with her father. "It'll be quick." 

Jaime busied himself with emptying the kettle as she pressed the video icon, listening to the familiar trill of the outgoing call, not appreciating the view of her face as she waited for him to answer. Frowning, she patted down my hair, then used a finger to wipe away some of the smudged mascara beneath her eyes. 

Moments later, he picked up, and Brienne was graced with a shot of his forehead, and the familiar ceiling of her apartment. "Brienne?" 

"Hey, Dad," she greeted, lifting a hand in a wave. "How's it going?”

He squinted, clearly trying to make sense of her surroundings. "Where are you? That's not work, is it? It looks fancy," he asked, ignoring her own question. 

Brienne’s eyes flickered to Jaime, who looked smug about the fact that he’d called it fancy. "I'm at a coworker's house," she said, purposely trying to be vague. "Where's Calcifer?"

He sighed, and Brienne heard the sound of his footsteps as he walked down the hallway, though she could still only see the ceiling. "Sleeping on the couch," he commented. "I don't think he's moved since I got here. Except when he feels the need to hiss at me, even though I've been nothing but nice to him." 

"Can you show him to me?" she asked, wanting visual confirmation. 

"He's right here," he said, sounding confused. "You can't see him?" 

Brienne closed her eyes for a brief second. "Dad, you need to flip the camera around. Tap the camera icon."

He lowered the phone, and she saw his face, pulled tight in bewilderment as he tapped at the screen, though nothing happened. "I can't get it to work." 

"Okay, then just turn the phone around so it faces him," she said tiredly. 

He followed her instructions, though his aim was off, and she only caught a glimpse of his tail before he turned it around again. Good enough. 

“Thanks, Dad,” she replied, and Jaime chuckled quietly. She paused, bracing herself. "So... I'm actually not coming home tonight, the roads are still too bad. Are you okay spending the night there? He'd probably be okay if you left him and just checked on him in the morning, too."

“It's alright, I'll stay here," he stated sympathetically, and Brienne’s shoulders relaxed with relief. He frowned. "What coworker did you say you're staying with? I know it's not Sansa." 

Brienne felt Jaime’s gaze on the side of her face.

"Um," she stammered. "His name is Jaime." 

His eyes widened. "Jaime? Isn't he the one who—" 

"Gotta go, love you!" Brienne called out, disconnecting the call before he could say any more. 

It was quiet after that, and she cleared her throat, setting her phone on the counter. 

Jaime tilted his head to the side innocently, though his eyes glittered with mirth. "The one who what?" 

Brienne laughed, shaking her head. "I have no idea what he’s talking about," she lied. Maybe she’d ranted to him on more than one occasion about the party and every single thing that had followed afterward, and maybe she hadn't. Who was to say, really? "God, look at the time. I'm beat."

He looked at her knowingly, lips pulled up into an amused smirk, but he made no comment. "Alright," he said. "I can show you where you'll be sleeping.”

Hopping down from the stool, Brienne followed him through the hallway, her heart suddenly racing with nerves as they walked into the bedroom. The lighting was dimmer, making it feel warmer and more intimate than the rest of the apartment. She surveyed the room, trying to remain casual, but her cursed mind instantly began to wander. 

She’d consumed a lot of wine tonight, and the man was a total smokeshow. Could you really blame her? 

She glanced back at Jaime, as he lifted up a hand, dragging it through his hair as his eyes swept over the area. He still hadn't done up the devilish top button of his shirt, and she thought briefly of the way his chest had felt beneath her hand. 

Shit. 

He held out his hands unceremoniously, gesturing to the bed. "This is all yours," he told her. "I'll be out in the living room if you need anything." He paused, thinking for a moment, but she was hardly listening, her pulse loud in her ears. Looking back at her, he frowned. "Oh, did you want something to change into? I imagine that won't be very comfortable to sleep in." 

Brienne took a step closer to him as he continued to ramble. 

"There are extra blankets in the closet if you get cold, or if you get too hot, just feel free to throw them on the floor," he went on, noticeably avoiding her eyes as she grew closer. "I also have a fan if you prefer white noise, or—" 

"Jaime," she said softly, cutting him off.

His eyes flickered to her, and she didn't miss the way they briefly scanned the length of her body before returning to her face. "Yeah?" he asked, swallowing visibly. 

She held his gaze for several beats, as the silence grew charged. For once, she didn't want to beat around the bush, or leave anything up to interpretation. "I really want to kiss you again," she murmured bluntly. 

He looked mildly stunned. As the silence grew longer, Brienne began to contemplate bidding him goodbye and taking a step off the balcony, certain she had just made a complete ass of herself. But then he replied, and his words caused her stomach to flip. 

"I wouldn't be opposed to that," he returned, dark eyes blazing with a fire that was starting to become familiar. 

That was all it took before she launched herself at him, kissing him with a fervor that he quickly returned, pulling her as close as physically possible. Her heart felt ready to break free from her rib cage, as his hands tangled in her hair, and her fingers trailed down as his jaw. They clumsily stumbled backward until his legs hit the bed, and they struggled to stay upright. 

Brienne couldn't recall a time she’d ever wanted someone so immediately, and so completely. Nothing felt like enough. She had no idea what this all meant, or where it would lead, but there was no chance in hell she was stopping now. Their entire relationship had been zero to one hundred, why stray from that pattern? He pulled back slightly, pressing kisses to the corner of her jaw, working downward until he reached her collarbone, and she closed my eyes, exhaling. She lifted a hand, guiding him back to her lips.

They broke away for another brief second as he sat down, pulling her with him. She straddled his lap, placing her hands on either side of his head, keeping him tethered to her. He kissed her shoulder, where her blouse had shifted to reveal a dangerous amount of skin, and her fingers automatically moved to the buttons on his own shirt, working quickly, feeling mildly delirious. 

When she struggled with the second to last button, he paused, leaning back from her lips to give her a hand, and she laughed breathily, too far gone to feel embarrassed. He met her eyes, smiling, and the movement of his mouth made her unable to resist kissing him again, pushing the shirt off his shoulders to reveal his bare chest. She trailed her fingers down the surface, feeling a shiver down het spine. 

Wanting to speed up the process, she pushed against his chest lightly, holding his gaze as she lifted her own shirt over her head, tossing it to the floor. His breath hitched, expression going slack for a moment, his eyes still burning with desire. She brought him back to her, taking his bottom lip between hers, and he tugged her closer, fingers slipping beneath her bra strap. They shifted, moving further onto the bed, but then he paused again, pulling away reluctantly.

His eyebrows were furrowed, gaze darting over every inch of her face. "Are you sure?" he asked hesitantly. 

"So sure," she told him, without a second thought. She moved to kiss him again, before stopping herself, frowning in concern, placing a hand on his chest. "Are you?" 

He laughed shortly. "Absolutely," he said, voice low and gruff. 

Brienne beamed. "Cool."

Reaching up, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, pressing a slow kiss to her neck, causing her eyelids to flutter. He looked up at her again, shaking his head. "You are so out of my league," he breathed, eyes tinted with awe. 

She laughed again. "I know," she teased, grinning wickedly, and pushing him until he was lying flat on his back. 

She’d had enough talking for now. As she said before, words were overrated.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a couple chapters to go! 
> 
> P.S. Is anyone else watching Barry? It is my current obsession. (But please don’t spoil anything is you are!)
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Brienne had never been a morning person.

The early sun was her nemesis, her bed was her safe haven, and the floor surrounding it was lava. In her eyes, every hour before noon had been crafted by Satan himself. Circumstances only grew more dire when she was battling a hangover headache that had the force of a thousand tiny drills on her skull. The hints of daylight peeking through the curtains felt like a brutal assault, and she pulled the comforter over her head with a scowl. 

Sleep was a beautiful escape from harsh reality, and Brienne was eager to return to it. But the air beneath the blanket steadily began to feel like a sauna, so she threw it back in order to prevent herself from suffocating. Rolling onto her side, she slowly forced her bleary eyes to open, preparing to check the clock on her nightstand to see what ungodly hour of the day it was. 

Squinting, she struggled to find it for some reason. It wasn't in its usual spot. Instead, there was only an expensive watch with a cracked screen, a travel book, a picture of Jaime and his brother— 

Wait. 

Brienne’s eyes widened as she shot straight up, ignoring the surge of pain that erupted in her head from the movement. Heart racing, she glanced around at the bedroom, unfamiliar in the light of day, and immediately located her discarded clothes on the floor. 

Right. 

She was in Jaime’s apartment. 

In his bed. 

And—she glanced down—currently wearing his shirt. 

With the blur of everything that had happened last night, she was certain at least half of it was a dream. She pinched myself to double check, squeezing her eyes shut, but when she opened them again, everything about the situation remained the same. 

The spot next to her on the bed was empty, and she stared at it, warmth rushing to her face as I thought about everything they’d done. Distantly, she could hear music drifting from down the hall, and she noticed the door was open just a crack, allowing the sound to enter the room. 

Pursing her lips, Brienne tried to process the situation. She and Jaime had now entered the ever-uncomfortable Morning After phase, and there was no turning back, this was uncharted territory and they were definitely not in possession of a map. Whatever went down next would undoubtedly determine the course of their relationship. It was daunting. She had no idea how she should greet him; a casual good morning, perhaps? A flirtatious smile, an amicable high-five? The options were endless. 

And what would he do in response? Maybe he would politely ask her to collect my things and get the hell out, resigning her to a walk of shame that she had tread many a time back in the day. But after all that happened between them, and the way he'd looked at her... even the thought caused a swarm of butterflies to go ballistic in her chest. 

She had confidence that it would all turn out okay. Biting her lip to hold back a smile, she quietly crept out of the bed, tiptoeing to the ensuite. She slipped inside, gently closing the door behind her with a quiet click. It was time to do some damage control before gracing Jaime with her presence. 

Taking a deep breath, she faced the mirror. Her smile immediately turned into a grimace. She and Morning Brienne were not friends. She had serious racoon eyes happening, and her eyebrows were definitely not as precise as when she had left the house the morning before. All of the volume had fallen out of her hair, and it was still an odd texture from the onslaught of snow. Working quickly, she turned on the tap, eager to wipe away her smudged mascara and tame her hair, at least by a little. 

She cursed inwardly, wishing she would've taken her makeup bag with her to work. There was no way she could've known she’d end up at Jaime Lannister’s apartment twenty-seven hours later, but still, a girl should always be prepared. After doing the best she could, she surveyed her outfit, examining herself from different angles. His t-shirt was long and baggy enough that it wasn't too indecent, and she couldn't deny it made her legs look even longer than they already were. He'd offered it to her last night, and it beat wearing yesterday's clothes to bed. And it smelled like him. That was an added bonus. 

Brienne tilted her chin downward, breathing in the familiar scent of expensive cologne, closing her eyes for a brief second, momentarily trying to calculate a way she could sneak out with the shirt in her possession. God, she was hopeless. 

Giving herself one last once-over, Brienne exited the bathroom, tucking a strand of pale hair behind her ear, and timidly heading toward the kitchen, listening as the music increased in volume. A mixture of nerves and excitement bubbled up in her belly as she rounded the corner, entering the room. 

Jaime was stationed at the counter, his back to her, as he fried something on the stove, a sizzling noise mixing with the sound of Frank Sinatra's crooning. He was donned in a loose t-shirt and sweats, his hair mussed with sleep, and it was odd to see him wearing something other than the collared button-ups and pressed trousers he wore to work. She hovered on the outskirts of the room, placing a hand on the wall, watching as he whistled under his breath, working diligently. He placed the contents of the pan onto a plate, and she caught a glimpse of bacon, and sunny-side up eggs. 

Be still her beating my heart. 

He was cooking her breakfast. 

Moving to place the dish on the island, he turned around, instantly spotting her. He froze, eyes widening slightly, and her heartbeat ceased, a wave of self-doubt washing over her as she anticipated how he would react. 

But then his eyes softened, his lips curling upward, and she felt her shoulders relax. 

“Good morning," he greeted lightly.

It appeared he'd decided to go down the casual route. 

“Morning," Brienne returned, walking further into the room, taking a seat at the island after he gestured to it with his chin. 

Jaime nudged the plate closer to her, and she smiled, feeling a pang of hunger in her stomach. 

He turned back to the counter for a brief moment, before passing her a steaming cup of tea, and she felt her cheeks warm in appreciation at the gesture.

"Earl Grey," he said off-handedly, "I hope that's alright." 

"It's perfect," she said, meaning the words, as she appraised the meal before her. "Thank you. You didn't have to do all of this." 

“It's nothing." His lips quirked in a half-smile as he leaned a palm on the counter. "How'd you sleep?"

Brienne plucked a piece of bacon from the plate, taking a bite and raising her eyebrows. "Really well, actually." It was true, she’d slept like a baby. It was amazing how much of a difference a nice bed and rich people sheets could make. 

“Hm," he hummed, looking as though he was fighting a smile. "Sounded like it." 

She gave him a confused look, tilting her head, her chewing coming to a halt. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

He lifted a shoulder innocently. "You were snoring." 

Brienne scoffed, rolling her eyes and giving her head a shake. It was his turn to look at her quizzically, eyebrows furrowed. Is he leveled him with an even gaze, unimpressed by his attempt at humor. "Obviously I don't snore," she remarked simply. 

"You do." 

"Do not!" she protested, cheeks flaming. 

The familiar all-knowing expression of amusement returned to his features, and he folded his arms over his chest. "It's alright," he assured her sincerely. "It's cute." 

Brienne held his stare for a few beats, biting the inside of her cheek. His lips curled upward in a soft smile, his dark gaze intent on her face, and her stomach fluttered. She inhaled through her nose, fidgeting with her fingers, feeling a sudden urge to ask him the burning question that was resting on the tip of her tongue. 

But before she could, he cleared his throat, straightening up, and all traces of humor and gentleness vanished from his face. 

"Anyway," he started, his tone a lot more formal than it had been moments ago. "I'm going to go take a shower. Help yourself to whatever you need." 

Frowning, Brienne watched as he retreated toward the hallway. "Aren't you going to eat something?" she asked. 

“Already did," he replied, raising his eyebrows. "Looks like the roads are pretty clear too. You should be able to head home whenever you're finished eating. I can call you a cab." 

"Jaime—" 

Without letting her finish, he disappeared in the direction of his room, and she felt her frown deepen as she turned back to her food, suddenly not feeling quite as hungry. Perhaps he was trying to kick her out of his house after all. 

Brienne heard the sound of the shower starting moments later, and she resigned to eating breakfast by herself, unsure of how to feel. It was entirely possible that she was completely overthinking things—as she often did—and he just thought she’d want to get home as quickly as she could. While she was eager to get back to familiar territory, she wasn't about to leave without figuring out where they truly stood. She’d had enough of the guessing game. 

After finishing her meal, she deposited her plate and mug in the sink. She made a quick detour to Jaime’s room to grab her clothes, before heading to the other bathroom to get dressed. As she slipped her wrinkled blouse over her head, she debated grabbing something from his closet to wear instead, but his dismissal had suddenly made het feel like an intruder in his apartment, rather than a welcome guest. 

Once Brienne finished getting ready, she took a seat at the island once more, deciding to sit there until Jaime finished up. She was beginning to wonder if he was even going to come out, or if he secretly hoped she’d get tired of waiting, and leave on her own. A pinch formed between her eyebrows at the thought. 

She was getting too far ahead of herself. As soon as they had the chance to talk, all het worries could be laid to rest. 

Flinching at the sound of footsteps, Brienne looked over her shoulder, where Jaime had reappeared at the end of the hall. His hair was wet, a small towel around his shoulders, and he'd tidied up his five o'clock shadow so that it was as clean and precise as normal. His eyes darted to her as he entered the room, sweeping over her outfit briefly, and taking note of the empty island in front of her.

“All finished?" he asked, and she nodded. 

"Thanks again," she murmured, feeling uncertain.

Jaime’s mouth lifted in a polite smile. "No problem." He gestured to the window with his chin. "The plows have been at it since early this morning, you shouldn't have as much trouble making it home today."

Brienne got up from her seat, walking to the other side of the room to peer out of the window, down at the street below. The sun was out, and the road looked significantly more clear, cars making their way through the slush at a speed that was only slightly slower than normal.

"Do you have all of your things?" 

“Jaime," she said, keeping my gaze riveted to the street. 

"Hm?" he hummed, sounding distracted.

Feeling a bout of nerves in her stomach, Brienne turned around slowly, wanting to examine his features. He watched her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. "Don't you think we should talk before I go?"

He looked confused for a moment, before laughing shortly, eyes guarded. "Why?" he questioned bluntly. "We don't really have much to talk about, do we?" 

Brienne’s heart began to sink. 

And here she’d thought things would be different this time around. 

She felt her eyebrows furrowing in concentration. "You don't think so?" 

Jaime shrugged nonchalantly, giving her another sheepish laugh. "I mean, we're both adults. And we both know that what happened last night was a one-time thing," he said simply. 

His words felt like a brutal blow to Brienne’s chest.

"We do," she said, and it meant to come out as a question, but instead ending up sounding like a flat statement. 

"Well," he continued, averting his gaze, his tone light, as he moved to the sink to start busying himself with the dishes. "I don't think it would be appropriate to keep this going. We work together, after all."

Brienne exhaled softly, staring at his back.

“Why?" she challenged. "Ros and Theon are together." 

He scoffed, shaking his head, before turning to look her in the eye. There was something in his expression that she didn't recognize. "But it's not like we're dating, Brienne," he remarked, and the condescending tone of his voice caused a lump to form in her throat. He dropped his eyes again quickly, clearing his throat. 

The guy who'd looked at her last night like she was the only thing he wanted and told her she was out of his league seemed to have disappeared. And she wasn't a big fan of the flippant asshole who'd taken his place. 

Crossing her arms over her chest, Brienne felt a flare of anger spark up in her stomach, her body becoming rigid. 

"This isn't normal for me," he explained, looking down as if she wasn't drilling holes into the side of his face with her eyes as he scrubbed furiously at her plate, even though it hadn't been that dirty to begin with. "I don't do one-night stands, or colleagues-with-benefits or whatever it is you'd prefer." 

Brienne made a face of confusion, shaking her head. None of this was making any sense whatsoever. "What are you even talking about?"

He lifted his shoulders casually, and she swore, if he shrugged one more time, she was truly going to lose it. "I know that you're not really into relationships, but I'm kind of the opposite, so I just thought—"

Brienne squeezed her eyes shut, holding up a hand to stop him. When she opened them again, he blinked, looking perplexed. "Am I missing something here? When the hell did we have this conversation?" 

A look of guilt crept onto his features, though it looked as if he tried to mask it. "We didn't..." he admitted, trailing off. "But I've heard that you like to keep your options open and date around so... don't let me hinder you." 

Brienne laughed once without humor. "You've heard? You're making a lot of assumptions right now," she pointed out, lifting an eyebrow, heat rushing to her cheeks. 

He stilled his movements, eyebrows creasing as his gaze darted over every inch of her face. It finally seemed to click that she was upset, and he set the plate down in the sink, looking genuinely surprised. "Is something wrong?" he asked hesitantly. "I thought this is what you would want." 

“Yes, something is wrong!" Brienne snapped, voice full of frustration, and he flinched slightly. She took a deep breath, trying to translate her frustrated jumble of thoughts into coherent sentences. "This has been our problem from the beginning. You refuse to communicate with me! You think you know everything, but you never take the time to actually talk to me and ask me what I want."

Jaime’s eyes widened marginally, and he seemed to be stunned into silence. 

“Last night," she started, meeting his gaze levelly, despite the fact that her vision was blurring. "I didn't go into it thinking it was a one-time thing, and I sure as hell didn't think we'd just be coworkers-with-benefits, or whatever the fuck you said. And if you'd ever asked me, you would've known. This just feels like a cop out." 

“Brienne," he started softly, "I'm truly sorry—" 

She laughed again, shaking her head. "I was well aware that we didn't know each other all that well, but now I feel like we don't actually know each other at all," she remarked, and his eyebrows creased in anguish. His casual expression had rapidly changed into one of regret. 

Stalking toward the closet, Brienne tore it open, making to grab her coat, and Jaime was hot on her heels. She paused, turning to give him a scathing look, her lips pursed. "As much as I wish I didn't, I like you, Jaime," she told him, and he went still again, lips parting. "But every time I start to think you might not be so bad, you pull shit like this." 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. "God, I'm an idiot. I really think this is all just a big misunderstanding."

Ignoring him, Brienne slid on her coat, latching onto the handle of my bag. 

“Please don't go," he murmured, his jaw tightening, face still pulled into a worried frown. "I should've talked to you, I'm an asshole." 

Brienne grunted in agreement, lifting an eyebrow and reaching for the door handle. 

“Brienne, please," he pleaded, his voice low, placing a hand on her arm gently. "At least wait until I've called you a cab." 

Rolling her eyes, she shrugged him off. "I can get home by myself," she said stubbornly. "I don't want your help." 

She wrenched the door open, stepping out into the hallway. She paused, glancing over her shoulder to see his crestfallen expression. "Merry Christmas, Jaime," she told him coldly. "And a Happy fucking New Year, too." 

He continued to call her name as she stormed out of the apartment heading down the hallway, blinking quickly, her heart pounding with anger. She made it to the end of the hall before stopping abruptly, and turning on her heel, heading back in the opposite direction. 

“Brienne—" Jaime started as she went past him again. 

She cut her eyes in his direction briefly. "I went the wrong way," she announced, sniffing haughtily.

Curse her lack of direction for ruining her dramatic exit. 

Furiously she pressed the down button for the elevator, stepping inside once it arrived, ignoring Jaime’s gaze until the doors slid closed, carrying her away from his apartment, and the complete mess that had just unfolded.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this is taking me ages to finish! To be fair, there’s still a ton of snow where I live so a Christmas story is still acceptable in my eyes. Please, enjoy!

Of all the mistakes Brienne had made over the course of her thirty-two years, this one was high up on the list. 

With ‘The Winner Takes It All’ playing on a continual loop in her cramped apartment, Brienne was spending the night before Christmas Eve swiping through Tinder, phone in one hand, red wine in the other. It was a pitiful sight, bearing witness to all of the people who were so desperate for human connection during the holidays that their only hope was using an app that would lead to something that would likely fizzle out in a matter of weeks. 

Her situation was different though. 

All she needed was a cute distraction that would help her forget her encounter with Jaime Lannister even happened at all. However, her task was proving to be a lot harder than she originally anticipated. 

Brienne squinted at the screen, swiping through the profile of a dude who had decided to use a group picture for every single photo, trying to discern which white boy he actually was. After looking at them in great detail, she gave up. It didn't actually matter because she wasn't attracted to any of them. 

Taking a deep breath, she took a sip of wine, half-tempted to start playing a game where she took a drink every time she saw variations of the same phrases across the majority of the profiles. 

“6'1, because apparently height matters.”

“Looking for the Pam to my Jim.”

“Let's go on an adventure.”

“Snowboarding. Netflix. Pizza.”

If one more guy mentioned hiking or going to the gym, or shared a picture of them with a dead animal, she was seriously going to contemplate stepping out of her window. She was only on the second floor, so it likely wouldn't do much, but the sentiment was still there. 

"Ugh," she groaned, throwing her head back against the couch. The movement startled Calcifer, causing him to leap to the floor, vacating the room. She glared after him, feeling betrayed. "Fine, I wanted to be alone, anyway." She stuck my tongue out indignantly. 

Her phone vibrated with a notification, and she glanced down to see someone had "super-liked" her profile. Oh, goodie. Crinkling her nose, she was met with a man who claimed to be thirty-six, but looked at least fifteen years older. 

Sighing, Brienne tossed the device to the side. It was useless. 

Maybe she didn't need a man. Maybe she just needed a really good Korean drama. 

Reaching for the remote, she settled into the couch cushions, turning on the TV in search of something to watch. She’d only just begun to peruse through various titles when her phone began to vibrate again. She stilled all movement, body tensing. A phone call. What if it was Jaime? If it was, should she even answer? 

Pursing her lips and feeling a flicker of nerves in her belly, she timidly plucked the phone from the place beside her, peering at the screen. Instantly, she deflated, letting out a breath. It was a FaceTime call from Sansa. 

Plastering a smile on her face, Brienne answered. She was immediately greeted with the girl herself, backed with a gray sky and pine trees covered in snow. Sansa waved excitedly at the sight of Brienne, and Brienne felt her smile growing a little more genuine. 

"Merry Christmas Eve Eve!" Sansa called out. "And hello from the future." 

"Hello from the past," Brienne returned, before straightening up. "Holy shit, you chopped all of your hair off!" 

Sansa beamed, reaching up to touch the ends of her firey-colored hair, which now curled beneath her chin, instead of extending far past her shoulders. "I did," she remarked. "I had a spiritual awakening. I feel like a new person without all that weight on my shoulders." 

"Damn, Stark," Brienne said appreciatively. "You look hot." 

"Thank you, thank you." She leaned forward, pretending to take a bow. Lifting her head again, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, squinting at the camera. "How are you? Why do you look sad?" 

Feeling called out, Brienne contorted her face into an angry expression. "Is this better?" 

"No." 

"This?" She puckered her lips and held up a peace sign. 

"Still no." 

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes and lifting my chin. "What about—" 

"Brienne," she interrupted, voice flat. 

Pouting, Brienne felt her shoulders slump. Sansa’s eyebrows tipped upward in sympathy, and Brienne sighed, reaching up to drag a hand over her face. "Do you think your family has room for me? I think I need to get out of here for a while," she said forlornly. 

"Uh oh. It'd be a blast to have you here, but I'm not convinced that'll be the solution to your problem," Sansa reasoned. "What happened?" 

Brienne bit the inside of her lip, contemplating. She’d never been good at keeping things to herself. "I slept with Jaime," she confessed, cringing afterward, feeling like she’d just torn off a Band-Aid. 

Sansa screeched, and Brienne yelped, flinching at the loud noise. 

"Jesus Christ, Sansa!" Brienneecried out. "Take it down a notch." 

"Oh my God," Sansa exclaimed, flapping her free hand excitedly as she ignored Brienne’s words. "Oh my God! I knew he liked you, it was so fucking obvious. Tell me everything! When did this happen? Where did this happen? What did he—" 

"It's not something to be happy about," Brienne grumbled, cheeks flushing, eager to bring Sansa’s joyful spew of questions to an end. "He totally blew me off." 

Sansa held up a hand, grimacing. "Ew, okay. Pump the brakes. I didn't mean everything. Keep it PG, Tarth." 

Brienne rolled her eyes. "Not literally, you pervert. I mean, he was extremely cold to me, and basically couldn't get me out of his house quick enough." 

Sansa’s eyebrows furrowed, and she chewed on the inside of her lip. "Okay, elaborate. I need more context." 

Leaning back against the couch, Brienne told her everything, feeling like some of the weight on her own shoulders was lifting. It'd only been a couple days since everything went down, and of course she’d ranted to her father—and her cat—but it felt good to talk to someone that she felt would give her sound advice. Because honestly, she had no idea where the hell she was supposed to go from there. 

After Brienne finished, she waited expectantly as Sansa processed everything, taking a deep breath and looking somewhere in the distance. She closed her eyes for a brief second, then nodded.

"So he's a dumbass," she concluded simply. 

"Right?" Brienne exclaimed, grateful to know they were on the same page. "Such a dumbass." 

Sansa nodded again, pursing her lips. "What he did was undoubtedly hurtful, and stupid." 

"I agree wholeheartedly." 

"That being said...." she trailed off, looking away. "I think you should talk to him." 

Brienne blinked, doing a double-take. "What?" she asked, not sure if she heard her right. "Why would I do that?" 

"It really seems like all of this can be chalked up to miscommunication," she explained diplomatically, and Brienne frowned. "Neither of you were vocal about what you wanted until it was too late. Now, the way he handled it was absolutely... horrid. I don't blame you for being upset. But I think the best thing now would be to properly communicate. For once." She quirked an eyebrow. 

Brienne made a face of disgust, mentally envisioning how that conversation would go. "What are my other options?"

Sansa rolled her eyes amicably. "Come on, Brienne. You work together. You don't have to be in a relationship, or even be friends if you don't want to, but the least you can do is talk." 

"Ugh," Brienne muttered. 

"If not for you, then for me. I work with both of you, after all. I don't want to be caught in the middle of your wistful stares," Sansa teased, pretending to gag. 

Brienne flashed Sansa her middle finger, sticking out her tongue. 

They talked for a while after that, mostly about how Sansa’s vacation was going, but Brienne still had her words of direction in the back in her mind, even once they hung up. 

She paced her apartment, stewing in her thoughts, unable to decide whether she wanted to see Jaime again, or if she didn't. At the end of the day, Sansa was right. They couldn't go back to work normally if they left things in their current state. She groaned, throwing her head back in anguish. She didn't want to be the one to reach out. She was the one who'd dramatically stormed out of his apartment, after all, and by this point, they all knew she wasn't the bigger person. 

After walking back and forth in the living room for what felt like hours, Brienne finally decided on one thing. She was going to go to her dad’s house. It couldn't hurt to get a second opinion. 

She checked her appearance in the bathroom mirror, crinkling her nose at the reflection. It wasn't that she cared how she looked—her dad had certainly seen her at her worst many times—but the Alfalfa sprout growing from her head and rumpled pajamas stained with sauce from last night's takeout just seemed to scream, ‘I Was Brutally Dumped and I'm Not Over It,’ and it wasn't exactly the look she was going for. 

Heading to her room, Brienne selected a black turtleneck and her favorite pair of jeans, already feeling a lot better about herself. She curled her hair, and did her makeup, steadily working toward her goal of Bad Bitch. She winged her eyeliner on her left eye, and was about to do the right when she heard a knock on the door. 

She paused, holding her breath, intending to act like she wasn't home until the other person left, but then they knocked again. 

Scowling, Brienne scooped up Calcifer from his place next to her on the bathroom counter, ignoring his protests as he tried to jump out of her arms. He was her back-up plan if the person at the door was an unwanted visitor; he would scratch if provoked. 

She sighed dramatically, holding Calcifer in one hand, and using the other one to pull open the door to her apartment. 

The sight of the person standing before her caused her to freeze. 

Jaime Lannister, hair mussed, cheeks flushed, and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He exhaled, lips lifting in a nervous smile. "Hey," he breathed. 

Brienne blinked. 

He swallowed. 

She slammed the door. 

"Brienne, wait!" he called, sticking his foot into the doorway at the last second. "Ow!" 

Leaning against the door, she stood still, her eyes wide, as Calcifer meowed impatiently. "What do you want?" she asked. 

"Five minutes of your time," he replied, voice sounding strained. "That's all I ask." 

Brienne squeezed her eyes shut, warring with herself. They truly did need to talk. And she’d just gone and made things a whole lot worse. She didn't want them leaving today with the mental imagery of her crushing his foot in the door as their lingering memory of each other. 

Biting the inside of her cheek, she took a step away from the door, enough to pull it open again, fixing him with a flat look. He breathed a sigh of relief, shaking his foot out slightly. Some of the petals from the bouquet had fallen to the floor in the scuffle. 

He looked down at the cat struggling in her arms. "This must be Calcifer." 

"Don't look at him." 

"Right," he said, nodding quickly and bringing his gaze upward. 

Slowly, Brienne moved out of the way so he could enter, watching him warily. "Five minutes," she reminded him, closing the door once he was completely inside, before freeing her cat from the prison of her embrace. 

Jaime hesitated, looking as though he wanted to hand her the flowers, but decided against it, swallowing nervously instead. His eyes darted around the room, before landing on the sofa, and he took a seat timidly. 

Brienne purposely kept her distance, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms over her chest. 

He fiddled with the floral arrangement in his hands, pursing his lips. "I know you probably don't want to hear it, but I'm genuinely so sorry about the way I acted, and I wanted a chance to explain." 

Brienne tucked a section of hair behind her ear, remaining silent. 

Taking her silence as permission to continue, he cleared his throat, looking at her intently. She didn't like the way it made her stomach flutter, so she glanced away. "When I saw you on my first day at Accord... I nearly dropped all the issues of the magazine Robert had just handed me. I thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen." Brienne’s eyes widened at the unexpected words, and she felt her cheeks warm. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his lips lift in a small smile. "You were late, as usual, with your wind-blown hair and rosy cheeks. It was horribly endearing." 

It was odd, thinking back to Jaime’s first day in the office, and to know that he remembered it so well, when it had felt like any other day to her at the time. They’d been introduced briefly, and she’d thought of him as nice to look at, but pretty standoffish, and classed him in the same category as the other male heathens she worked alongside.

"I didn't think you'd ever be interested in me, and it didn't take long for me to figure out how different we were," he continued. "You were bold, and funny, and I was... well, you know I am. Not very approachable, to say the least. Each time you tried to talk to me, I felt like I was tripping over my own feet." 

Despite herself, Brienne let her eyes drift in his direction, fighting off a smile of amusement, though her arms remained folded tightly over her torso. Even though she was still angry at him, it was flattering to know the effects of her charm. 

"My first week in, Ramsay took it upon himself to give me the lo-down on everyone in the office," Jaime explained, grimacing slightly. "When it came to you, he made a big show of talking about how you were hard to get, and didn't believe in long-term relationships. So, I thought it would be best to keep my distance—" 

"Hold on." Brienne held up a hand. "Your opinion of me was based on the wise words of Ramsay fucking Bolton?" 

He cringed, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm not proud of it." 

“Good God," Brienne scoffed, shaking her head. 

"I honestly wouldn't have believed him if Robert hadn't said something similar," he reasoned sheepishly. She pursed her lips, displeased. "But that didn't stop me from having feelings for you, though I did my best to hide it. And then the Christmas party happened, and I drank too much."

His mouth quirked in a half-smile, and she thought back to that night, which felt like an absolute fever dream in retrospect. 

"The way you looked in that dress was practically criminal, and then you came outside and fought off a literal criminal for me, and I couldn't help myself," he remarked, laughing a little. "And then I panicked. I didn't want to have a casual fling with a coworker, and my idiot brain assumed you would, so I tried to shut it down..." he trailed off, amusement leaving his face as his mouth pulled into a frown of remorse. 

"The other night... I let myself believe I could be okay with casual. Then morning came around, and I realized I couldn't. I wanted to respect your wishes, and didn't want you to feel pressured into a relationship just because we worked together," he went on. Brienne closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I thought I was protecting myself. I was scared of being rejected. But in doing that, I hurt you, and for that I am truly sorry."

Opening her eyes, Brienne looked at him squarely. He remained silent, looking both sincere and crestfallen, and it tugged on her heartstrings, as much as she didn't want to give in. His words had certainly explained a lot, and it seemed as though all of his intentions had been pure from the start, even if his actions missed the mark.

After a long pause, she breathed in deeply through her nose, shaking her head pitifully. "You fool," she said finally. "You absolute clown."

Jaime grimaced. 

"If you would've asked me out after we kissed, I would've said yes," she told him, raising her eyebrows. "And if you'd asked me out when we were snowed in together, I would've said yes then, too. If you asked me after we slept together, guess what? That would've been a hell yes. I would've said yes every time." 

"I'm an idiot," he said solemnly. 

"You are," she agreed, nodding. Reaching up, she dragged a hand through her hair. "It's true that I'm a little bitter about serious relationships, but that's because all the ones I've had have ended badly, and in recent years, I haven't found anyone worth pursuing. You were different, though." 

A flicker of hope darted across his features. "If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I would absolutely love to see where this goes," he said, a softness in his eyes that made her pulse quicken. 

Brienne tilted her head, narrowing her eyes in a calculating stare. "You still haven't asked me out."

His lips twitched in amusement. "Right," he emphasized. "Brienne Tarth," he began, pushing up from his seat on the couch until he was kneeling on her living room carpet, bouquet outstretched, eyes twinkling. It was quite a sight to behold. "Will you do me the honour of going out with me?" 

She kept a straight face for as long as she could manage, but it only took seconds for her mouth to crack into a face-splitting grin, and she laughed, walking toward him. God, he was embarrassing.

"Stand up," she insisted, still laughing, and he complied, grinning along with her. "You're such a weirdo." 

"Is that a yes?" he asked, looking into her eyes intently as she grew closer, slipping her arms around his waist. 

She leaned down, bringing her lips to his in response, and he was eager to return the gesture, bringing his free hand up to her chin. Sliding her fingers up into his hair, she got even closer, basking in the familiar scent of his expensive cologne, not having realized how much she’d missed it until now. 

They stumbled backward a little, until his legs hit the couch, and she took it as her cue to stop before things got a little too carried away. She leaned back just enough so that their noses were nearly touching, smiling down at him. 

"That's a yes," she confirmed. 

He smiled back, kissing her again for a brief second. After pulling away, he offered her the flowers, and she laughed, admiring them. "I have an idea for our date, too," he remarked, reaching into his coat and pulling out an envelope. 

Brienne frowned. "What's that?" 

"Tickets to an ABBA tribute band," he said proudly.

Brienne’s eyes widened, and she took a step back. "How did you know I like ABBA? Stalker," she accused. 

He rolled his eyes. "You were humming along to ‘Lay All Your Love on Me’ for like three hours when we were stuck at work," he stated flatly.

Brienne opened her mouth to protest, then stopped, nodding. "Okay, fair." Her face melted into another smile. "Let's do it." 

"Can't wait," he said, grinning again. After setting the flowers down on the counter, she slid her arms around his torso again, peering down at him. "Do you think we'll even last beyond New Year's Eve?" 

Jaime laughed, shrugging and reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "I have no idea, but I'm more than willing to try." 

It wasn't until after he left that she remembered her right eye still had no eyeliner.


	12. Chapter 12

Holding her breath, Brienne watched the city go by her window at a snail's pace, taking in the familiar sights of the downtown core. Her knee bounced with anticipation as the car crawled closer to the Accord office, dreading her arrival. She released her breath, blowing a strand of hair out of her face, before a hand settled on her leg, stilling its movement. 

Looking up, she was met with a pair of warm eyes, matched with a tentative smile. Instantly, she felt her shoulders relax by a small fraction.

"Everything's going to be fine," Jaime assured her, lifting his hand from her leg to intertwine their fingers, giving her a squeeze. 

"You can't know that," Brienne said nervously, shaking her head. "You're not God." 

He quirked an eyebrow, using his free hand to smooth back a section of hair that had fallen into his face. "That may be true, but my gut instinct is telling me it's all going to work out." 

Brienne scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Your gut instinct is terrible," she reminded him. "If it was good, we would've started dating a long time ago." 

He opened his mouth to protest again, before closing it, looking sheepish. The man couldn't deny she had a point. Instead, he gave her a sympathetic look, giving her hand another reassuring squeeze. "We don't have to do this today if you don't want to. We can wait a while." 

Brienne eagerly shook her head again. "I want to," she promised. "Truly, I do... I'm just scared. Things will be different." 

Jaime reached over, placing a soft kiss to her cheek. Self-consciously, she looked to the front of the car, where the cab driver was currently eyeing them in the rearview mirror, feeling her cheeks warm. 

"Remember," Jaime said, his voice low. "Robert is the only person we're telling today. We're just testing the waters." 

Testing the waters. 

It was the phrase they’d repeated to each other many times in the short weeks since he went to her apartment, becoming something of a mantra. Inviting him to Christmas dinner with her dad was testing the waters. Spending New Year's Eve with Tyrion and his girlfriend was testing the waters. Staying at his house every night the past week was testing the waters. 

In her opinion, the waters had been sufficiently tested. But it was still comforting to delude themselves into thinking they hadn't already waded too far in. 

Heading back to work for the first time after the holidays felt like a rude awakening. Brienne had begged Jaime to sleep in with her, wanting to delay the inevitable and stay safely inside the comfortable bubble of his apartment. But they could only hide away for so long before they had to face reality. 

Hauling in a deep breath, Brienne squared her shoulders, fixing Jaime with a soft smile that he returned. As much as it scared her, her own gut instinct told her he would be sticking around for a while, whether she liked it or not. 

"You're right," she conceded finally. "I'll try to stop freaking out." 

The first step in going public with their relationship was to share it with Robert. It seemed like a natural first step to let their boss know, and to assure him it wouldn't affect their work performance in the slightest. Hypothetically speaking, anyway. 

Brienne bit the inside of her lip as they pulled up to the curb outside the building, before turning to Jaime. "You remember the plan?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. 

He nodded sagely. "You leave first, I wait five minutes, then go inside." 

"Exactly," she replied, nodding as well. 

She let go of his hand, securing her fingers around the door handle, a bout of nerves in her belly. Slowly, she clicked it open, setting one foot on the pavement. Pursing her lips, she paused. 

"Brienne?" Jaime asked, sounding concerned. 

She waited a beat, before sliding back into the car and closing the door abruptly. He gave her a look of confusion, eyes wide. "What are you—"

Latching onto his collar, she pulled him toward her, meeting his lips in a fervent kiss. She looped her arm around his neck, holding him close, and after he recovered from the initial shock, he kissed her back, hands sliding into her hair. 

The cab driver cleared his throat. 

Jaime pulled away chastely, cheeks flushed. "Sorry," he mumbled, before giving Brienne another questioning look. 

"Won't be able to do that for a while," she explained, shrugging her shoulders, not bothering to feel embarrassed this time. 

Jaime’s lips twitched, his eyes glittering with amusement, and she took a second to wipe away the stray lipstick from his mouth. Once she had removed all visible traces, she nodded again. 

"See you on the other side," she said. 

He gave her a mock-salute, causing her to grin, before she stepped out of the car for real this time.

Closing the door behind her, Brienne fought to wipe the smile from her face, her heart pounding persistently in her chest, stomach aflutter as she walked toward the office entrance. She tried to ignore the war flashbacks of not being able to escape the building, focusing instead on keeping her composure. If she was unable to tamp down the feelings of giddiness, she was certain her coworkers would be able to see through the cracks.

She felt like a new woman going up the familiar stairs she’d passed over thousands of times. Pushing open the door to the office, a sense of renewed bravery settled in her chest, feeling like she could take on the world. 

She was instantly greeted by a familiar face.

"Podrick!" she called out excitedly, causing the boy to flinch, nearly spilling his coffee. 

His face looked haunted for a brief moment, before he mustered up a weak smile. 

Undeterred, Brienne walked further into the room, a wide grin stretching across her lips. "It's been ages! How are you, buddy?" 

He sighed, seeming to realize a conversation with her was unavoidable, reaching up to scratch his wavy mop of hair. "I'm—" He paused. She blinked. Frowning, he checked the watch on his wrist, looked at the clock on the wall, then back at her. His eyes widened. "You're here on time," he remarked, sounding astonished. "You're never here on time." 

"What can I say?" Brienne shrugged nonchalantly, trying to brush it off. "New year, new me, Pod."

"Not possible," he said simply, shaking his head. Her smile started to fade, looking like more of a grimace. His eyes dropped to her hands, narrowing. "Where are your things?" 

Blinking again, Brienne glanced down, only to see that her fingers were blastedly empty. 

God damn it, her things. 

Slowly, she brought her eyes back up to his, feeling like a deer in the headlights. 

Feigning ignorance, she cursed under her breath, slapping a hand to her forehead. "No!" she cried. "How could I forget my precious things!" 

So acting wasn't her forte, sue her.

Podrick gave her a flat look, crossing his arms over his chest and taking a slow sip of coffee. "Something's off," he announced. 

"I don't know what you're talking about—" 

Brienne stopped at the sound of the door opening behind her. Freezing, she peered over her shoulder, watching as Jaime attempted to creep inside, undetected, not realizing that they were already being watched. He hunched over, lifting her bag discreetly, as she gave him her deadliest stare, trying to warn him. 

"Brienne," he whispered loudly, passing the bag to her. "You forgot this." 

She couldn't believe this fool was the man she’d chosen for herself. 

"You found it!" she exclaimed, looking between him and Podrick pointedly, and Jaime’s eyes widened as he straightened up, rapidly processing the situation. 

"Uh," he stammered, frantically glancing between the two of us. "That's right! I saw it at the... bus stop. And I knew it was yours, because we work together. Obviously." He choked out a nervous laugh. 

Neither of them were getting nominated for an Oscar anytime soon. 

"Brienne takes the train," Podrick replied. 

Christ, why had she told this boy so much about herself? 

"And I'm quite certain you don't go anywhere near transit," he continued, eyeing Jaime warily. 

Brienne shared a look with her partner in crime, not knowing what to do next. 

Podrick took a step backward, keeping his eyes on them while he called over his shoulder. "Hey, Robert!" 

The shout was enough to gather the attention of everyone else in the immediate vicinity, so that all of their coworkers were now watching them with varying degrees of disinterest and intrigue.

Robert emerged from his office, looking delighted at the sight of them. "Look who it is!" he said cheerfully. "How were your holidays?"

Before either of them could respond, Podrick spoke up again. "Brienne and Jaime came to work together," he accused, looking smug. Brienne glared at him in warning, but he barely flinched. She didn't know what had happened to him over the break, but he no longer seemed to be the sweet, timid intern she knew and loved. 

Robert’s eyebrows furrowed. "What? Why would they do that? They don't live anywhere near each other," he reasoned, laughing a little. 

A silence fell over the room. 

Brienne rolled her lips in, bracing for impact, the soundtrack to Jeopardy playing in her head as she waited for it to click. 

Suddenly, someone gasped, causing her to flinch. Ros stood up from her desk, pointing at them with wide eyes. "They're hooking up!" 

"Jesus, Ros!" Brienne snapped, cheeks flaming. "What the hell?" 

Jaime had squeezed his eyes shut, shoulders hunching up again as he pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Robert’s own eyes had widened, and he looked at them in shock. "Is it true?" he asked. "Are you really?" 

"I don't see how this is anyone's business," Brienne protested over the murmurs moving throughout the room.

She looked to Jaime for help, and he met her eyes, still cringing. He lifted his shoulders in defeat, asking a question with his eyes, and after a long pause, she nodded, sighing. 

Jaime stepped forward, holding out his hands, trying to quiet everyone down. "Well, this certainly isn't how we planned on telling all of you," he started, his face an interesting combination of sheepish and professional, "but yes, Brienne and I are dating." 

Brienne stuck her tongue in her cheek, avoiding all the stares, wishing more than anything that she had the ability to disappear into the floor. 

“We wanted to assure you all that this will not be affecting our work performance, and that things in the office will continue to be business as usual," he finished, and the room fell back into silence. He cleared his throat, and they shared another pensive look. 

Brienne counted the seconds in her head, waiting for someone to have a reaction. 

She got to seven before everyone seemed to talk at once. 

"I knew it!" 

"Who would've thought?" 

"Not me!" 

"I bet this has been going on for months." 

"Months? No way!" 

Silently, Brienne watched as people proceeded to talk over each other excitedly, feeling as though she was in a strange dream. She had no idea her coworkers were so invested in their relationship.

"What'd I tell you?" Podrick said, grinning proudly.

Robert was fishing out his wallet, shaking his head. "I gotta hand it to you, Intern, I didn't see this coming," he remarked, passing over a twenty dollar bill. 

Brienne made a face, catching Robert’s eye. 

"Oh, we made a wager about whether you guys would get together by the time we got back to work," he explained simply, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. 

"God, I hate it here," Brienne muttered to herself. 

"Anyway, I need to talk to you two in my office," Robert continued, pointing at them, before gesturing to his door. 

As they prepared for the impending awkward conversation, Brienne shared a knowing smile with Jaime. 

Forget testing the waters, they’d just jumped into the middle of the damn ocean. 

—————

After surviving the hurdle that was Robert, Brienne and Jaime escaped his office, making their way back to their desks. 

The room had settled significantly in the time that they’d been gone, though they still received several curious looks as they took our usual seats. Brienne had a sinking suspicion that this would be the new normal for the next little while. 

Opening up her bag, she pulled out her trusty metal water bottle, setting it on her desk, before taking out the rest of her things. As brutal as the reveal was, there was no denying it was a relief to be on the other side of it. Her body felt a little lighter, and the anxiety in her stomach had vanished. 

Glancing up, she peered in Jaime’s direction. He met her eyes, lips quirking upward surreptitiously, causing her to fight off my own smile. They’d promised their relationship wouldn't change things, but it was going to be extremely hard to not stare at him all day. Resting her elbow on the desk, she leaned her chin in her hand, crinkling her nose and sticking her tongue out at him. He laughed quietly, before quickly trying to cover it up with a cough, earning him a few looks from his deskmates. 

Jaime murmured an apology, then focused his gaze on his monitor. 

Exhaling through her nose, Brienne figured he was probably right, they should try to be productive. God forbid she actually got some work done at her job. 

Moments later, her phone vibrated, and she glanced at it absentmindedly to see that it was a message from Jaime. 

‘You're beautiful,’ it read. 

Brienne bit the inside of her cheek, looking up at him again. His lips were pulled up in a proud smile.

‘Ew,’ she wrote back. 

He narrowed his eyes. 

Her phone buzzed again. 

This time, it was just the middle finger emoji. 

She sent him a kissy face. 

"Well, well, well," a sudden loud voice caused her to flinch, nearly dropping her phone. 

Tormund Giantsbane had decided to make his presence known, standing over Jaime’s chair with his arms folded, a strained smile on his face. His messenger bag was still looped around his shoulder, a beanie hanging off his head. "I heard the news," he announced, though he kept his eyes riveted to Brienne’s boyfriend. 

"What?" Jaime asked, eyebrows furrowed. 

"You're dating Tarth now, huh?" he continued, before answering the unspoken question, gesturing with his thumb, "Ros texted me." 

Brienne whirled around in her chair, making a face at the woman in question, holding her hands up and shaking her head. "I just wanna know why," Brienne said, but she simply shrugged, only looking slightly remorseful. 

"Um, yeah," Jaime replied, laughing awkwardly, "I am." 

"Congrats, man," Tormund remarked, clapping Jaime on the back a little too aggressively, causing him to jerk forward. "Didn't think you had the balls to snag her, but I'm happy for you guys." 

Brienne rolled her eyes. 

“Thanks, Tormund," Jaime said tightly, sliding his chair a little further. He glanced at Brienne, doing little to hide his annoyance. He made an attempt to return to his work and ignore the other man entirely, but Tormund lingered by his desk. 

“Better be careful." Tormund lifted an eyebrow. "I might just have to steal her from you. We all know she doesn't do commitment, anyway." 

Jaime stopped typing, setting his jaw and lifting his eyes from the screen. 

"That's enough," he said firmly, before leveling Tormund with an even gaze. "From what I've heard, you've been harassing her for years, so if you think you have even the slightest chance with someone like her, you are sorely mistaken. And don't talk about her like she's a possession. She's a human being." 

Brienne’s eyes widened, and Tormund blinked, clearly not having anticipated that kind of response. 

“I hope you know, I'm likely going to take Robert’s position someday," he continued, raising an eyebrow. "When that day comes, I'll be your boss. I'd think very carefully about my actions if I were you, because based on my knowledge of your work performance and personality, you'll be the first to go when I'm in charge." 

Tormund’s lips parted, his face paling a little. 

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get back to work."

With that, he returned to his computer screen, leaving Tormund to walk away dumbly, face burning in shame. 

Brienne didn't know if she’d ever been more attracted to the man. 

Diving for her phone, she shot off a quick text. ‘Janitor's closet. Three minutes.’

She stood up from her desk, pretending to stretch as Jaime checked his phone. He read the message, eyebrows furrowing. He looked at her quizzically, but she simply looked at him meaningfully, moving toward the exit, trying not to call any attention to herself. Casually, she headed down the stairs, toward the aforementioned closet. 

Pulling open the door handle, she peered inside, making sure Sandor was not currently hiding out in the shadows. 

Minutes later, Jaime appeared, still looking confused. She gestured for him to follow her, then closed the door behind them.

"Hi," she breathed. 

“Hi," he returned warily. "What's going on?" 

"What you did back there was really cool," she told him. 

He reached up to scratch the back of his neck. "Oh, it was nothing," he said, laughing sheepishly. "I just couldn't stomach listening to him talk anymore. Especially after those texts he sent about New Year's." 

Brienne grinned in the dim lighting. "I really like you, Jaime." 

He laughed again. "Why are we in a closet?" 

"Because," she said. 

Cupping her hands around his jaw, she leaned down, as he pressed up, meeting her in the middle. His arms slid around her waist, tugging her closer as he exhaled deeply, and she relaxed into him. Running her fingers through his hair, she felt her heart begin to pick up the pace, as he smoothed his hand down her back. 

He pulled away to press a kiss to her neck, humming in disapproval. "We really shouldn't be doing this," he murmured. "We said things would be normal." 

"Is this not normal?" she asked, sounding breathless. 

He laughed shortly, bringing his lips up to her jaw, and she felt the words against her skin. "I don't think so." 

"Well, it's okay if our work performance is affected a little bit, right?" she pressed, fingers trailing down to toy with the top button of his shirt teasingly. 

"Brienne," he warned, halting her fingers with his own, pulling back and lifting an eyebrow. She batted her eyelashes innocently. He smiled, tapping a finger to her nose. "I'd rather not do this in Sandor’s bedroom." 

"Fair," she grumbled. 

He chuckled softly, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "For the record, I really like you, too." 

A feeling of warmth spread throughout her chest, melting her face into a smile. "Thank God we finally figured this out." 

"Thank God, indeed." Jaime grinned, giving her one last, lingering kiss, before leaning back. "See you in five," he quipped. 

Brienne watched as he walked away, not clueing in until he was halfway up the stairs that she should've been the one to leave first to prevent herself from standing in a dark closet for minutes on end. 

In her short time alone, she reflected on how drastically things had changed in the past month, from the catalyst of the Christmas party, leading up till now. She would've never thought she’d end up there, waiting until it was acceptable to return to her desk in order to prevent people from knowing she’d just tried to hook up with her boyfriend in a janitor's closet. 

And that boyfriend happened to be Jaime Lannister, no less, someone she’d declared her sworn enemy at one point. It'd been a bumpy ride to get to this stage, but she was keeping her fingers crossed that it would be smooth sailing from this moment on.

Assuming it must've been at least five minutes already, Brienne reached for the door handle. 

But before she could make contact, it twisted, and the door swung open, causing her to squeal, stumbling backwards until her foot landed inside a mop bucket. Reaching out with flailing arms, she latched onto a nearby shelf to keep myself from falling over. Eyes wide and panting, she looked to the intruder. 

Sandor stood before her, corn dog in one hand, backpack in the other, looking thoroughly unimpressed. 

"Hey," Brienne greeted, smiling awkwardly. "Fancy meeting you here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it! My Christmas story has finally been finished... three days after Christmas. Sorry ‘bout it. Side note: is it still a Christmas story if there’s no actual Christmas scene? 
> 
> This isn’t my best writing, but it’s good enough for now! The world has been a frightening place lately, so I hope this makes you smile. 
> 
> Wherever you are, I hope you’re staying in and staying safe. <3
> 
> Thanks so much for reading this silly little story!


	13. Bonus: The Christmas Scene

A finger poked Brienne’s cheek, causing her nose to crinkle in annoyance as she attempted to wave it away. The invasive gesture came again, and she grumbled, pulling a pillow over her head and burrowing further into the soft sheets, the material soothing on her skin. She was briefly tempted to smuggle them into her own apartment, because Lord knew she’d never be able to afford them legally. 

"Good morning." 

"Go away," she replied, her voice muffled. 

The smell of freshly brewed vanilla rooibos tea trailed in front of her nose, and she had to admit, it was tempting, but not quite enough to coax her out of her slumber completely. 

"You won't like what happens if you don't get up right now." 

Brienne muttered something incoherent, eyebrows furrowing. 

"This is your last warning." 

"What are you—" 

A strangled yelp escaped her throat, the rest of her words melding into a scream as the pillow was yanked from her grasp, exposing her to the harsh sunlight, and she lifted her arms to shield her face, feeling like a vampire. The older she became, the more she understood their lifestyle; sleeping all day, only coming out once the sun went down, very little interaction with humans. It all sounded pretty damn appealing to her. 

"It's too early for violence!" 

The weight of the bed shifted, and Brienne felt a pressure against her hips. Her arms were gently pried out of their protective stance, and she blinked rapidly in the changing light to see Jaime Lannister hovering over her, blocking the window just enough to create a golden halo around his figure. Her heartbeat stuttered. His golden hair was mussed and falling over his forehead, his five o-clock shadow prominent, and his dark eyes were glittering with mirth. 

For a split second, she had the urge to pinch herself. 

How was it possible she’d ended up with someone who looked like a contender for People Magazine's Sexiest Man Alive? She knew she was a damn catch, but still. Apparently God had finally smiled upon her. 

"You were snoring," he announced. 

Or not. 

Brienne squirmed, trying to roll over, feeling slighted. "Fuck this, I'm going back to bed." 

He laughed, a warm chuckle that sent a flush to her cheeks, preventing her from moving any further. "Don't go back to bed, I made you tea," he negotiated. 

"And I appreciate that, but next time hold the snide remarks." 

"Deal." 

Brienne gave up the struggle as he pinned her arms down to the mattress. He lifted a blonde eyebrow, and she narrowed her eyes, trying to anticipate his next action. Despite his devilish grin, the kiss he bent down to give her was gentle, barely grazing her lips. 

Such a tease. 

Worming out of his grasp, she slid her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer to her.

She felt him sigh against her skin, and between that and the expensive sheets wound around her legs, she was beginning to think that maybe mornings weren't all that bad. 

After what could've been minutes, or several hours for all she knew, Jaime released her from the cage of his arms, sinking down into the mattress next to her, and she turned to face him. He smiled, reaching out to push her hair out of her eyes. She was ninety-nine percent positive she looked like an absolute mess, but she appreciated him pretending she didn't. 

"I'm really glad you're here," he murmured. 

A rush of heat flooded her cheeks again. She wasn't completely used to the soft, intimate side of him—though it shouldn't come as a big surprise, the man had gotten down on one knee to ask her out on a date a mere two days ago. Clearly he was a hopeless romantic at heart. 

Brienne tried to suppress a smile with great difficulty. "Me too. Your apartment could eat mine for breakfast." He barked out another laugh, louder this time. "Speaking of breakfast, what time is it? I'm starving." 

"God, I have no idea," he admitted, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Your tea must be cold by now."

Reluctantly, Brienne rolled over, squinting as she reached for her phone. Jaime slid closer, wrapping his arms around her waist and sighing sleepily into her shoulder. She had a slew of notifications that she promptly ignored, peering at the time with bleary eyes. 

"Oh, fuck!" she shouted, immediately sitting up straight. "Shit! No!" 

Jaime sat up too, looking bewildered and peering at her phone. "What? What's wrong?" 

"Christmas dinner with my father! That's what's wrong!" 

Now that Brienne was paying attention, she saw that most of her notifications were from the man himself, about the lunch that had been planned weeks ago. It was nearly twelve-thirty, and they were supposed to be there at noon. 

"Shit," Jaime echoed, grimacing. "Okay, don't panic. If we get ready and leave now, we can get there relatively quickly." 

"This is awful," she groaned. "I thought dating you would break my cycle of being late for everything."

He reached up to scratch the back of his neck, eyebrows drawn together. "It totally slipped my mind. I'm sorry, Brienne." 

She'd come over last night with the intention of watching a movie and then going straight home, but then too much wine was consumed, and one thing led to another, and, well, the rest is history. Time had the tendency to fly when you were... preoccupied. 

Jaime paused, quirking an eyebrow. "Side note, does that mean we're officially dating now?" 

Brienne side-eyed him, waiting a beat. "Anyway, I don't have anything to wear." 

The subject change was far less than subtle, but much to her relief, Jaime accepted it. Despite the fact that the man was about to be spending Christmas with her father, it felt too early for labels. In her mind, he was still on thin fucking ice. All of their problems stemmed from misunderstandings and miscommunication, and she wasn't quite ready to let him forget it. They were currently in the trial period. 

"Hm," he hummed, sliding out of the bed to walk over to his closet, and Brienne allowed herself a second to admire the view. "Maybe we can find something for you in here." 

After quickly rifling through a handful of outfits, they settled on a patterned shirt that Brienne imagined both Tan France and Harry Styles would approve of, and the jeans she’d been wearing the day before. While Jaime scrambled to get dressed, she hurried to the ensuite, frantically wiping the remnants of yesterday's mascara from beneath her eyes. 

Apparently she would be looking a little worse for wear this Christmas. 

But God had decided to be merciful by making her hair wavy in a way that looked like it could maybe be on purpose. She paused at her reflection in the mirror, breathing in the smell of Jaime on his shirt, feeling her stomach twist. There was something very intimate about wearing his clothes in such an innocent way. 

"Brienne," he called, his voice tight. "Your phone's ringing." 

Instantly, all good feelings vanished, and she felt her eyes bug out, listening to the faint vibrating sound coming from the other room. 

She exited the bathroom to find Jaime staring at her cell phone on the bed, looking solemn, albeit handsome in his button-up and trousers. 

Bracing herself, she squeezed her eyes shut. "Is it—" 

"Yeah." 

“Shit." Unable to put it off any longer, she dove for the phone, quickly swiping to answer the call and pressing it to her ear. "Hey, Dad." 

"Brienne, where are you? I've been trying to reach you all morning." 

She met Jaime’s eyes, and he had the courtesy to grimace. 

"I'm so sorry," Brienne breathed genuinely. "I... lost track of the time. But I'm on my way now." 

At the last sentence, she felt the need to move toward the door, urging Jaime to follow her so she could at least tell the truth a little bit. 

"Are you?" He sounded irritated. The guilt in her chest intensified. 

"Yes, I promise!" she enthused, using her free hand to help her foot into my boot. "I'm just leaving the apartment." 

Her dad sighed, seeming to accept her answer. "Alright. See you in a few minutes, honey." 

Brienne frowned. A few minutes? It would take a lot longer than that to make it to his place across the city. 

Realization dawned on her like a bucket of water.

"Wait, Dad—" 

It was too late, he’d already hung up. She lowered the phone, biting the inside of her lip, eyeing Jaime worriedly. He paused in the middle of throwing on a jacket, frowning at her. 

"What?" 

"Nothing." She looked away quickly. "Um, let's just hurry." 

If he was suspicious of her behavior, he didn't comment on it. She was restless as they rode the elevator down to the lobby, bouncing on her heels. Seriously, could those things move any slower

Jaime reached for her hand, twining their fingers together with a small smile, and the gesture brought warmth to her cheeks. 

It wasn't until they were in the back of the Uber, watching the city go by, that she decided to come clean. 

"I have a confession," she blurted. 

Jaime frowned, looking appropriately confused. "Oh?" 

"It wouldn't be fair if I didn't prepare you before we get there." She drummed her fingers on her thigh, stalling for time. 

"Okay, now you're scaring me." 

She laughed shortly, waving a hand. "It's no big deal, I just... may have forgotten to tell my dad you're coming." 

The color immediately drained from his face. "You what? Brienne—" 

"And he, um, might kind of hate you." 

“Why?" 

Sinking further into her seat, Brienne avoided his sharp gaze, fully aware of the Uber driver turning down the music to hear them better. She groaned, covering her eyes with her hands. "I'm sorry!" she cried. "I haven't spoken to him in a few days, and I didn't get the chance to tell him that things are good now." 

It was silent for a while, and when she finally opened one eye to peek at him, Jaime was pinching the bridge of his nose, his cheeks flushed.

"So what you're saying is, all he knows is the bad stuff," he concluded. 

She shot him an apologetic smile. "Precisely." 

"Brienne," he pleaded. "I can't go to dinner knowing he hates me." 

"Okay, I don't actually know for sure if he hates you!" She placed a hand on his arm, rubbing it soothingly. "It could just be a strong dislike." 

"What did you all tell him?" 

Brienne winced. "Everything?" 

"Except the part where I apologized and explained myself?" 

"Yeah, except that." 

A pinch had settled between his eyebrows, and he looked up, eyeing the driver. "I should tell him to stop the car so I can get out," he muttered. "Or maybe I should jump while it's still moving." 

Brienne rolled her eyes. "Don't be dramatic. I'm sure you'll win him over right away." 

He looked at her skeptically. "Are you?" 

Brienne’s mouth opened to reply, before she promptly shut it again. Wouldn't be wise to make promises she can't keep. 

Jaime closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat with a sigh. "Look, if it's too complicated, I shouldn't come," he said quietly. "I don't want to intrude on Christmas with your dad, and blindside him by showing up unexpectedly. And I mean, this is a big step when everything is so new." 

Brienne made a face, shaking her head dismissively. "This isn't a step, Jaime. Don't make it into something bigger." 

He frowned at her words, and she crossed her arms over her chest, lifting an eyebrow. 

"Tell me again where your dad and sister are right now," she remarked. 

"Down south," he said slowly. 

"And your brother?" 

Jaime’s expression softened. “With his girlfriend." 

"Exactly," she concluded. "You're spending Christmas with us because I'm not going to let you spend it alone. It doesn't have to be this big, scary thing." 

"But what if... things go south between us?" he asked, sounding hesitant. "This Christmas will be forever ruined." 

"You're overestimating how much any of us will remember this day in a month," she assured him. "And once my dad recovers from his initial shock, he’ll be happy I'm finally bringing a man over." 

At that, it looked as though he was trying to suppress a smile with great difficulty. "You don't bring men over much, huh?" 

She narrowed her eyes. "I bring them over just as often as you bring ladies home, according to your brother." 

"Touché." 

—————

The door to her father’s apartment swung open, and Brienne plastered a large smile on her face, nudging Jaime with her elbow to get him to do the same. 

"Merry Christmas!" she exclaimed, as Jaime handed him the large poinsettia in his arms. 

When they passed by a flower shop, he'd insisted on stopping to pick something up for him, hoping it would soften his reaction to his unexpected presence. Apparently he'd gone down the same line of thinking as when he showed up at Brienne’s house to apologize. If it worked on her, maybe it would work on him too. 

Browne had texted him from the car to at least give him a little bit of a heads up before Jaime’s arrival, but his response to her announcement had been met with nothing but a string of question marks and an incoming call that she denied, deciding it would be best to explain things in person. 

Her dad blinked at the red flowers that were thrust into his hands, then up at the two of them. Brienne could feel her smile wavering as she tried to hold it in place. 

She placed a hand on Jaime’s arm. "Dad, this is Jaime." 

Jaime extended a hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Tarth." 

Selwyn didn't even spare it a glance, keeping his eyes riveted to Jaime’s face, before doing a sweep over the rest of him, looking unimpressed. "Hm." 

Brienne felt herself blanch as she gave her father her most pointed look, appalled at his lack of tact. Beside her, Jaime slowly lowered his hand, sticking it back into his pocket. At least he was taking this gracefully. 

“Well, father," she forced out. "Are you going to let us in?" 

Her dad smiled sweetly. "I'm still deciding, darling."

An awkward silence fell over them, before Selwyn stepped back, allowing them into the entrance. Brienne slipped inside before he could change his mind, but Jaime waited a beat, his footsteps faltering as he hesitated. After sighing under his breath, he followed her in, and the door shut behind them, effectively sealing them inside for what was bound to be an uncomfortable few hours.

If things got too intense, Brienne was fully planning on faking sick. 

"You'll have to forgive me, Jaime," Selwyn said breezily as he set the bouquet down on the counter, suspiciously close to the garbage can. "I wasn't informed you were coming. And I was under the impression that Brienne was seeing other people now." 

Heat rushed to her face. "Whatever gave you that idea?" 

"Well, you told me you were on Tinder two days ago. I thought you had plans to meet up with someone." 

Jaime met her eyes, tilting his head, face unreadable. "Did you now?" 

"I changed my mind," she said hurriedly. "Anyway, that doesn't matter. It's in the past." 

Her dad patted her arm patronizingly. "Two days isn't that long, honey." 

"It's long enough." 

"It smells amazing in here," Jaime broke in, clapping his hands together, clearly trying to both diffuse the tension and earn brownie points. 

"Yes, well, I hope we have enough food," Selwyn countered with the same sugary smile. "I didn't know there'd be three of us." 

Brienne took a deep breath. "Do you need any help?" 

"Actually, I think everything is—" 

“I'm sure you can find something for me to do in the kitchen," she urged, shooting eye daggers in his direction, before glancing at Jaime over her shoulder. "Make yourself at home. We'll just be a minute." 

Panic darted over his features, and she offered an apologetic look before disappearing into the other room. After shoving her father inside, she pushed the sliding door closed to give them more privacy. Once she was sure their voices would be muffled at the very least, she whirled around, facing the man with a pleading look. 

"Dad, please don't ruin this for me!" 

He looked bewildered. "I thought he'd already done that himself." 

“You haven't even given him a chance!" 

“A chance for what, Brienne?" he pushed, folding his arms across his chest. "For him to cast you aside again?" 

She made a face at his choice of words, momentarily distracted. "Cast me aside? Who is he, Jesus?"

Selwyn rolled his eyes, unimpressed. "You know what I mean." 

Brienne pouted, clasping her hands together and looking at him imploringly. He held her gaze for several beats before relaxing his shoulders, sighing. 

"Are you going to at least tell me what made you have a change of heart?" 

"It was all a misunderstanding," she explained. "A lack of communication. He assumed that I'd want something casual, so he thought he was doing it for my benefit. It's a long story." 

He watched her silently, face deadpan. 

“But he apologized, and I believe him," she said sincerely. "He may have acted like a complete fool, but I'm not perfect either. And at the end of the day, I still really like him." 

“Are you sure about this?" 

“No," Brienne admitted, raising her eyebrows. "But we're giving things a try. I want to see where things go. I haven't felt like this about someone in years, Dad. I couldn't let him spend Christmas alone." 

Much to her delight, it looked as though her words were wearing him down. His features were steadily softening the longer she talked, though his posture remained stubborn. The kitchen was warm from heat emanating from the oven, and she felt it in the frustrated flush of her cheeks, momentarily grateful that Jaime’s shirt was loose enough to allow some decent airflow to move through it. 

"But what about that gentleman you were going to get coffee with from Tinder? He seemed nice," he said, lifting her chin. 

Brienne crinkled her nose. "There's no guy. I didn't want you to know how upset I was about Jaime, so I made up someone else." 

“Brienne." Disapproval was evident in his voice. 

She stepped forward, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and resting her head against his, breathing in the scent of his floral cologne with a sigh. "Dad." 

"I don't want my baby to get hurt again." 

“Your baby doesn't want to get hurt either," she remarked, raising an eyebrow. "I'm being careful. Besides, I think you'll really like Jaime once you get to know him." 

After another wave of silence, he straightened up, and she released him, watching his face eagerly.

"Alright, here goes nothing," he declared. 

Hope swirled in Brienne’s belly as he stepped forward to pull the sliding door open. They were met with the sight of Jaime stumbling, trying to recover from where he'd been obviously leaning against the door. He cleared his throat as he righted himself, an embarrassed flush to his cheeks, and she glared at him with wide eyes.

Jaime laughed nervously, dragging a hand through his hair as he looked to her for guidance. "Um," he stammered. "I was just making sure the, uh, door was properly—" 

Brienne elbowed him sharply. 

Selwyn moved toward the dining table, and as soon as his back was turned, she shot Jaime a scathing look. 

"Eavesdropping, really?" she whispered through gritted teeth. 

He lifted up his hands in surrender, looking frantic. "I'm sorry! I didn't know what else to—" 

Selwyn turned around and they both smiled quickly. "Well?" he asked, gesturing to the open seats at the table. Brienne was relieved to see there were three place settings. "Shall we?" 

Brienne took a deep breath as she and Jaimeshared a glance. "We shall." 

—————

Long after the sun had dipped below the horizon, they stepped out of the apartment complex and into the cold, bellies full. There was still an obscene amount of snow leftover from the storm, but sidewalks and walkways had been cleared for the most part. 

Brienne stuck her hands into the pockets of her woolen coat, pulling it closer to her, before peering down at Jaime. "Well, you officially survived dinner with my father." 

He closed his eyes, exhaling and holding out his arms. "God, I feel like I can finally breathe again."

A smile toyed with her lips, and she lifted a hand out of her pocket to gently punch him on the shoulder. "You did a good job, champ. He wasn't even bothered when you kicked our asses at Ticket to Ride." 

Jaime grinned, puffing up his chest proudly. "I am pretty good at strategy games," he remarked, before pausing a moment to take in the cool air, listening as a car whizzed past. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. "I had a lot of fun. Thank you for letting me join." 

"It was nice to have someone else there." 

"Someone?" he teased, lifting an eyebrow. "So anyone would've been fine?" 

"Yes," she quipped, meeting his eyes, before nudging him with her elbow amicably. "But I'm glad it was you." 

His lips curved upward, and the movement drew her gaze. She felt myself gravitating toward him, until the doors opened behind them, and they quickly stepped out of the way as another resident exited the building. Jaime chuckled quietly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. "I guess I should call us a car." 

“Actually, my place is super close," she informed him, gesturing over her shoulder. "I usually walk." 

"Oh," he paused, freezing in the middle of grabbing his phone from his pocket. "Can I walk you, then?"

Her mouth twitched. "Such a gentleman." 

He grinned, reaching for her hand and intertwining their fingers as they set off down the sidewalk slowly. On most days, Brienne walked at a lightning speed, eager to reach her destination, but tonight felt like a night to cherish each moment. Christmas lights in the shape of stars hung from the lamp posts above them, and she could see the trees twinkling in the windows of the houses they passed by. 

She stepped closer to Jaime as a gaggle of children ran past, giggling while their parents called for them to slow down and be careful not to slip. A laugh bubbled up in her throat as I processed their surroundings. 

Jaime peered up at her curiously. "What's so funny?" 

“I feel like we're in a fucking Hallmark movie." 

"And is that a bad thing?" 

"It's gross." 

He lifted an eyebrow. "I suppose if we were in a Hallmark movie, I might do something like this."

Before she could ask what he meant, he swept her into his arms, and she yelped, latching onto his shoulders to keep herself upright. They were suddenly so close that she could see every detail in his face, noses nearly touching. Her pulse spiked dramatically. 

"Yeah, probably," she breathed. 

"Good," he replied. "Because I've been waiting to do this all day." 

His lips captured hers briefly, and she began to melt into him, until she placed her hands on his chest, pulling away. He shot her a confused look, seemingly annoyed at being interrupted. 

"I don't know about you, but I prefer to have privacy." She traced a finger around his jaw, eyeing her apartment building up the street meaningfully.

Jaime glanced over his shoulder, following her gaze. "Ah, I see," he said, turning back to her, quirking a dark eyebrow. "I'm not going home tonight, am I?" 

She batted her eyelashes, straightening the lapels of his pea coat, watching his breath come out in a puff of fog. "Well, that's up to you, isn't it?" Leaning down, she pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek. "Merry Christmas, Jaime." 

He watched her, amusement dancing in his eyes, as she stepped away, waggling her fingers in a wave as she sauntered toward her apartment. His eyes scanned the length of her body, and it sent a thrill down her spine knowing she had the upperhand this time, feeling quite confident it was only a matter of seconds before he started following her. 

“Oh, fuck!" she cried out as her foot caught a patch of ice, sending her careening to the ground, landing flat on her ass. 

To his credit, Jaime didn't laugh. Or at least if he did, he did it quietly. 

She closed her eyes, deciding that hanging out on the ground was far better than standing up and wallowing in her embarrassment. But then she heard Jaime clear his throat, and she opened one eye to see that he'd extended a hand in her direction. Begrudgingly, she accepted the offer, and he hauled her to her feet, poorly smothering his grin. 

“Graceful as always," he teased, cupping her face with both hands and kissing her before she could protest any further. The gesture was enough to distract her from the mortified heat in her face, causing her stomach to flutter. When he pulled away, he smiled softly, running his thumb along her bottom lip. 

“Merry Christmas, Brienne," he murmured. "I'm honored to exist at the same time as you." 

She leaned closer, sighing against his lips. "You should be. I'm one in a million." 

“That you are," he agreed. "That you are." 

Pushing past the lingering feelings of embarrassment, Brienne latched onto Jaime’s hand again, tugging him along behind her, marveling at the fact that there was once a point in time where she actively hated this man, but now there was no one else she’d rather spend Christmas with. 

Even if that meant making a complete fool out of herself.

Math wasn't her strong suit, but she was pretty sure that it all balanced out somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! A belated Christmas gift for you.
> 
> So, I actually meant to get this out a lot sooner, but if you know anything about me, you know that I am a master of procrastination. But hey! We still got here.
> 
> It just bothered me that this story didn’t have a scene that took place on Christmas, so now it does!
> 
> Thank you so much for the support on this story! 
> 
> Props to all of you for (nearly) surviving 2020, and all the best in the new year!


End file.
